Mercy Rule
by NearTheEnd
Summary: Two rival football teams battle it out to get to the Nationals. But what happens when opposing players become star-crossed lovers? Mainly Spamano, USUSK, GerIta with side pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**Mercy Rule  
**

**Summary:** Two rival football teams battle it out to get to the Nationals. But what happens when opposing players become star-crossed lovers? Mainly Spamano, USUSK, GerIta with side pairings.

**Rating: **T

**Pairing(s): **SpaMano, USUK, GerIta, PruCan, hints of FrancexEveryone

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia.

**Note(s):** The term 'football' is being used to describe the American sport, 'soccer'. Sorry for those who came looking for a North American football playing fic, but there will be no pig-skin throwing here.

* * *

Football.

A sport of passion and beauty, played in the barren streets of the poor and the rich fields of green spread miles wide and long.

It was the ultimate connector; a melting pot of adults and children alike.

It didn't matter where you came from or why you were there; once your foot makes that first step to jab into the ball and send it flying wherever it may land, you were initiated into the game and became a part of the team.

The current football team of Orbis Terrae High School was gathered in the close-quarter halls of the locker room. They sat in a loose circle, the eyes of all focused on an average sized man by the name of Romulus Vargas.

"Alright, team. This is the last big game before the championship, so I need you to keep focus," he said, an excited sparkle in his muddy brown eyes.

"So, basically, you're saying to pass the ball to the twins," stated a rather snarky blond sitting to the left of the coach. Romulus gave the boy a nervous smile.

"Well...it wouldn't hurt," he replied in an apologetic tone. The blond, also known as Arthur Kirkland, rolled his eyes before crossing his arms in displeasure.

"Well, they just so happened to inherit my stamina and foot-eye coordination, which is apparently a little above average," the man explained, every word laced with pride and adornment. A swarm of groans filled the locker room, making the man frown. He sighed and brought his trusty whistle to his lips, letting out a sharp screech to silence his team.

"Now all of you listen because I'm tired of saying this," the man scolded, "You are all excellent football players and I'm not saying that you're not. All I'm saying is that it would be in our best interest to pass the ball to more experienced players when in situations like this one."

Romulus scanned the room, hoping that the teammates understood his logic. A few nodded begrudgingly while others just sat in annoyance. He figured they all thought he was just favoring his beloved grandchildren, but their talent couldn't be wasted. He knew that with the brothers on the team, they would skyrocket to success. Which proved to be an accurate assumption considering how close they were to becoming national champions.

"Ve, how much longer do we have to wait?" A small auburn-haired boy asked. Romulus looked over at the boy, unable to fight the instantaneous lifting of the corners of his lips. The boy was the younger Vargas brother, known as Feliciano. His upbeat personality made it virtually impossible to hate him, despite how annoying he could be. Though the moment his feet touched the ball, his disposition turned from sunny to hailing in seconds.

"Just a minute or two," Romulus answered. Feliciano nodded and waited, swinging his legs to the beat he hummed quietly.

"Finally! We've been in here forever," the boy next him complained. Unsurprisingly, this boy happened to be the elder Vargas brother, Lovino. He was the shadow to his brother's shine, always tip-toeing on the darker side of life. Whereas Feliciano was upbeat and charming, Lovino was boisterous and rowdy. This was beneficial to the team, however, as he never seemed to run out of anger and let football become a therapeutic session on his bad days.

"We've only been here for around five minutes, hothead," a taller boy commented. The elder Vargas rolled his eyes.

"Well it feels like it's been at least an hour, Lars," he responded.

Finally, Romulus blew his whistle, signaling for the team to get moving. They obeyed without hesitation, hopping onto their feet and moving automatically as they had so many times before. The brunette man patted each player on the shoulder and gave them a smile. When he finally got to his grandsons, who were the caboose of the line, he gripped each of their shoulders firmly and gave them a warm smile.

"Remember, boys. Italians can never win a game against you, but you can lose the game against the Italians."

The duo nodded before walking on to join the other players. Romulus took a deep breath and walked over to the field to watch his team.

* * *

His eyes shined with admiration as he peered across the field at the team. Not one of them had a smile on their faces, save for the devilish smirk that would often find itself on Lovino's lips. He tore up the field alongside his brother, basking in the cheers belted out by loyal fans.

Romulus couldn't help but grin, there was no way they were losing this game. The opposing team was stumbling around, seemingly dazed and discombobulated as the Vargas brothers led their team to yet another victory. It wasn't long before Feliciano kicked the ball one last time, giving them the final total they needed to win.

The crowd rejoiced and as did Romulus, who never grew tired of that burst of excitement that came with winning. He greeted his team with a grin, joining them as they clustered together around an open stand that held a sign with the word 'water' printed on it. Arthur nonchalantly handed each player a bottle of water, congratulating each one as they reached him. Once the Vargas brothers approached the stand, however, he wore a deep scowl.

"Ve, thank you Arthur~!" Feliciano said as he gently took a cool bottle of water from the blond. The only response was a stubborn grunt of acknowledgment. As many would have predicted, this didn't sit well with Lovino.

"Oi, show some respect, _water boy. _Feli scored a shitload of goals and without him we wouldn't be anywhere near as far as we are now," the Italian scolded, "You're just bitter because you couldn't even make a goal if your life depended on it!"

Arthur clenched the bottle in his hand in an attempt to stop himself from going off at the boy. He took a deep breath, counted to ten in his head, and calmly replied.

"You _know_ I have a medical condition. Had it not been for you two, I would still be able to run without spraining anything."

The blond took another deep breath before narrowing his eyes.

"I was a star player on my old team, but you already knew that. Of course you would know, since you were the one that broke my ankle and got me kicked off the team for being handicapped," he continued bitterly.

Feliciano looked between the two in desperation. He pulled on his brother's hand, pleading for him to stop arguing. Lovino ignored him and continued instigating the fight he'd wanted to ensue. He was so close to being able to punch the snarky Briton straight in the face, all he had to do was get the other to hit him first. Which he undoubtedly knew how to do.

"For being handicapped? Really? I could've sworn the coach got rid of you to make room for that Jones kid," he replied, a smirk forming on his lips. Arthur trembled in anger, trying to calm himself.

"You bloody fucking twat," he mumbled under his breath.

There was a moment of pure tension before he launched himself onto the brunette, knocking the stand over in the process. Lovino grinned at the action, indulging himself in his victory. The blond showed no mercy as he attacked the Italian with full force, punching and kicking with all the might he could muster. Lovino never stopped grinning as he took a few hits, letting the smaller boy think he had a chance at winning before effortlessly crushing such ridiculous hopes. The brunette simply flipped their positions, straddling the other boy's waist as he threw a punch to his face.

This was about the time Romulus decided to step in. While he knew that the boys could handle a few punches, he refused to watch the moment his grandson drew blood. Lovino, who was struggling as Arthur began to fight back, was torn away from the blond by a surprisingly calm Romulus. He was handed to Lars, who put the boy into an arm-lock to stop him from rebounding. Arthur was picked up off the ground by a slightly frazzled Yong Soo, who grabbed onto the blond's shoulder in an attempt to stop him from attacking the elder Vargas brother.

* * *

Romulus put Lars in charge as he took hold of his grandson and led him away. Feliciano, who was worried beyond belief, knew better than to follow his grandfather when he wanted to talk to Lovino alone. There was bound to be yelling on both sides, which always scared the young Italian. He sighed and looked over at Arthur, who was being coddled by a worried Elizabeta.

"Hold still, Artie. I know it stings, but you have a lot of dirt that I have to wash out of the cut," she mumbled to him as she dabbed a wet piece of fabric over his cheek. Arthur didn't protest but listened instantly, flinching every time the fabric came in contact with his face.

"Oh, _fratello_," Feliciano sighed as he watched. He knew his brother would often get riled up after a game, but he had never seen him start a fight over something so trivial. It was known by all team members that he and Arthur didn't get along too well, but it was only due to their first encounter with one another. Had they met on friendlier terms, they were sure to be good friends.

"Feliciano."  
The young Italian snapped his head up at his name being called, his eyes looking around to find the source of the voice. He found Romulus waiting patiently a few feet away and walked over to him.

"Where's _fratello_?" He asked curiously. The man closed his eyes for a moment, a look of shame washing over his features.

"Don't worry about him, Feli. He just needs to calm down," the brunette said lowly. The boy nodded and stood quietly in thought. Romulus took this moment to blow his whistle and summon his team over to him.

"Alright guys, I have some good news and some bad news," he started.

"What's the bad news?" Yong Soo asked anxiously. Romulus took a deep breath and braced himself for the team's reaction.

"Well, it turns out that because of the...argument that took place a few minutes ago, we were disqualified," he answered slowly.

Silence.

A few glances were directed at Arthur, who held a look of disbelief on his features.

"However," Romulus added before the uproar could start, "We will be granted a second chance of getting to the championship."

The team stood in silence, thinking over the change in plans.

"So, we just have to win again and we'll be okay?" Elizabeta questioned. The coach nodded.

"And will there be some form of punishment for Lovino and Arthur?" Lars inquired. Romulus nodded once more and held up a finger.

"Both of them have to give the opposing team a gift basket," he answered seriously. There was a pregnant pause as the team members processed what their coach had announced.

"A gift basket?" Arthur asked almost mockingly. It was obvious that he deemed the idea stupidity-filled but felt the need to voice his disbelief.

"Yes. It will show that you two can be good sports and you'll get a sneak peek at the team you'll be facing off against," Romulus explained. Arthur sighed and acquainted his forehead with his palm.

"Now, let's head back to the locker room and get cleaned up, hm? I'm starting to get nauseous standing around you smelly teens," the coach joked. His team agreed and migrated back to the locker rooms in something of a pack.

Romulus followed slowly, walking leisurely as he contemplated the outcome of his decision.

_'One of the brothers need to see what they're going up against'_, he thought to himself, _'this isn't going to be another easy win. Not with Aldrick as the coach.'  
_

_

* * *

_

**/AN/: **Jeez, I should NOT be typing this =_=; But a plot bunny has been gnawing away at my creativity valve, so I had to type this up. The team names will be announced next chapter, which I actually have planned out so it shouldn't take too long to come out thanks to spring break.  
For those who might be having trouble figuring it out, Team 'Romulus'(Rome) = Feliciano (Italy), Lovino (Romano), Arthur (England/UK), Im Yong Soo (Korea), Lars (Netherlands), and Elivabeta (Hungary).


	2. Chapter 2

**Mercy Rule**

**Summary:** Two rival football teams battle it out to get to the Nationals. But what happens when opposing players become star-crossed lovers? Mainly Spamano, USUSK, GerIta with side pairings.

**Rating: **T

**Pairing(s): **SpaMano, USUK, GerIta, PruCan, hints of FrancexEveryone

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia.

**Notes: **I think this is the fastest update I've ever done. Because I'm just so gosh darn happy due to all the story alerts and favorites, I'm going to update this sooner than I planned. Review, please!

* * *

Sunny rays beamed down, adorning a field enchanted with jade shards of grass stretching for miles on end. A group of drowsy teens clustered together on the side of the field, where the gravel track lay, chatting amongst themselves. It was early morning, roughly around seven 'o clock, and the team was hardly ready to start practice.

Within the team stood bedheads and mumblers, trying to wake themselves with cups of caffeine or jogging in place. Their coach hadn't shown up yet, but they knew the routine. They were to be assembled on the field by a quarter to eight, ready to run five miles if told to. Oddly enough, they _had_ been told to every morning during the first few weeks of being on Spaera High School's football team.

"Man, you guys. It's not _that_ early. We've been doing this for four months and you're still not used to it?" Asked a boy with dark blond locks. He was considered the unofficial leader of the team, claiming to be 'the hero' whenever trouble came his way. Alfred F. Jones, a name that had so often been declared by irritable teachers and ticked-off teens alike, stood with hims arms akimbo as he lectured the team on their poor morning habits.

"_Oui_, I understand your concern, Alfred. But not everyone can wake up and be beautiful," a French boy commented, glancing at few select teammates. A taller, pale boy scoffed and shook his head.

"Speak for yourself, Francis. I don't know about you, but I wake up in the morning and I piss excellence," he argued. Alfred and a slim, lightly tanned boy laughed.

"Gil, you're so full of BS," the tanned boy chuckled. Gilbert shrugged, insisting that the others simply were too unintelligent to comprehend his level of awesomeness. Alfred smiled, enjoying the more lively mood of his team.

"Sorry to interrupt, but Coach is coming," a meek blond boy almost whispered to them. Immediately, the boys dropped their smiles and walked to the back of the already formed single-file line.

* * *

A tall, intimidating man approached the team sporting a serious scowl. He held a manila folder tightly to his chest as he eyed the boys, watching them with eyes of hawk and training of a military veteran.

"Sir, all members of the Spaera Wurst Wringers are present and accounted for and are ready for further instruction," Alfred stated, saluting the man. The coach cringed at the use of the team name but saluted the boy back nonetheless.

"Affirmative. Take a lap," he ordered. The team automatically responded in unison, barking out a firm "Yes, sir!" before jogging on the track.

The coach, a man by the name of Aldrick Beilschmidt, sighed deeply as he opened the folder and read the paper inside. He had been sent an email by the local football association about his team's next match. Apparently the team they were to face had been disqualified then somehow convinced the staff to give them a second chance. He searched the paper for the name of the coach that led the team.

_'Romulus Vargas'_, he thought to himself,_ 'I should have known. You're the only idiot I know that's a professional Karma Houdini.' _

After rounding up his team, Aldrick led them to the bleachers and demanded they take a seat to hear the news.

"It seems that our next match would be the one that determines whether we are to make it to Nationals or not," he started. A few of the players nodded, already aware of the consequences of their next game.

"Aw, don't worry about it, Coach," Gilbert said, waving his hand in disinterest, "As long as we got 'Toni and Freedom Jones over there, we're good."

Alderick shook his head, unconvinced.

"We will be against one of the best teams in the country," he continued, "Their coach is Romulus Vargas."

Only two of the players were fully aware of what Alderick was referring to. The others seemed unfazed, wondering how much power the name mentioned held.

"_Vargas_? As in...the Vargas twins?" Matthew, the quiet water boy asked. Their coach gave a firm nod, sending a sense of fear and excitement to the players. Fear was held in the hearts of the all but Gilbert, Alfred and Antonio who merely smirked in anticipation.

"The legendary Vargas twins? Aww, this is going to be so sweet!" Alfred cheered, pumping a fist in the air. Gilbert nodded, letting out an excited whoop.

"Ah, what were their names? Feliciano and...Lo...Lovero?" Antonio pondered aloud. The tanned boy yelped as an object was projected in the air and hit him square in the back of the head.

"It's _Lovino_, you idiot. Remember it."

The boy's eyes widened as he turned to see a petite brunette dressed in a blue and green soccer uniform. He carried a basket full of various fruits and vegetables, along with packs of candy centered in the middle. Beside him was a rather annoyed looking blond wearing a sweatshirt of the same colors with the words 'Orbis Terrae High School' on it, along with a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans and black Converse. His expression screamed 'talk to me and I'll slice your throat'.

"Sir, please explain to me what gives you the right to harm my team members," Alderick nearly barked at the brunette. In response, he rudely rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"Do you know who I am? Lovino Vargas – yes, _the_ Lovino Vargas – is standing before you and this is how you react?" He spat out. Gilbert let out a dry laugh.

"I always knew the legends were egotistical jerks," he commented, "Good thing 'Toni here's got a good head on his shoulders." The pale boy hooked his arm around his friend's shoulders, earning a broad smile from the Spaniard.

"Yeah! You may be one of the Vargas brothers, but not one person has been able to beat _Antonio El Tigre_," Alfred added, pronouncing the Spanish words with surprising accuracy.

Before Lovino could argue otherwise, Alderick interrupted their conversation.

"State your reasoning for being here. My team needs to practice and you two are becoming a distraction."

Arthur grabbed the basket from Lovino and held it out to the coach.

"We were sent by Romulus to give this to you," he stated monotonously. He dug a hand into his sweatshirt pocket and pulled out a scrap of pink paper decorated with scribbles.

"Also, we wish you the best of louse," he added. The team stared at him in confusion, unsure of how to react. Lovino grabbed the paper and re-read it.

"Luck, moron. It says, 'Be sure to wish them the best of luck,'" he corrected. Arthur shrugged, not caring.

"Well, why don't you stay and watch to see what you're getting into?" Alfred asked with a smirk. Lovino glared daggers at the blond boy as if challenging him.

"Fine, we'll stay," he answered firmly, leaving little room for argument. Unfortunately, Arthur felt that there was always room for argument and gladly took it upon himself to disoblige.

"No, we won't," he argued with malice. Lovino gave him a look, mentally deciding whether another fight would be worth it. Arthur didn't seem to be in good spirits, and the Italian had found out that despite how scrawny he looked, the blond could fight.

"What's wrong, Artie? Don't wanna find out how much more awesome we've gotten after you got kicked off the team?" Gilbert teased. Alfred and Antonio merely shrugged, unsure of what the pale boy was talking about. They had been new additions to the team, with Alfred being Arthur's replacement and Antonio being added for a higher chance of victory.

Arthur nearly growled at the taller boy in his poor attempt to calm himself.

"Team, get into your positions, we're going to start practice," Alderick said, raising his voice to be heard by all players. He turned on his heel to face the rival duo, giving them an irritated scowl.

"Boys, are you staying or not? I can't allow any more distractions, we're running late as it is."

The two exchanged looks before nodding, agreeing to watch the team practice. They were directed to the bleachers as soon as they gave the affirmative.

* * *

"Tch. '_El Tigre_', eh? He didn't even dodge that rock I threw at him. Seems like a moron, too," Lovino muttered as he took a seat on the top row of bleachers. The team had split up so that it was a one-on-one game, with Antonio and Alfred facing off. Gilbert became the goalie for Antonio's side with Francis as the other goalie. Two blonds sat on the bench adjacent to the field; one large and stoic, the other one small and coy.

"What, does it bother you that you may have competition, Lovino?" Arthur teased. The brunette scoffed and crossed his arms, going on about how there was no way Antonio could outshine the Vargas brothers.

As soon as Lovino finished his sentence, the whistle blew and began the practice game. The Italian stopped talking and focused on the Spaniard, watching his every move.

True to his nickname, Antonio was a speed demon with strength and force that surpassed both Vargas brothers combined. Every move he made was painted red with passion and it was almost as if he really had morphed into a tiger as he went berserk on the field. Alfred staggered behind the teen as he dribbled the ball with great ease and grace.

Lovino sat frozen as he watched Antonio kick the ball into the goal, making it seem more like a bullet than a sphere of hard plastic. Francis resisted the urge to cower as the ball came flying in his direction. He gathered up all the courage he was made of and flung himself into the air in order to block the ball. Unfortunately, the Frenchman had miscalculated and ended up a foot higher than the ball. All he could do at this point was watch the ball go directly under him and ricochet off the net, knocking the blond onto the ground.

Arthur watched in shock, silent from the mix of emotions that were plaguing him. The boy he had been replaced with Alfred F. Jones, who had yet to prove his worth. Antonio, however, proved to have a chance at single-handedly defeating the Vargas brothers without breaking a sweat.

_'This is bad'_, he thought, _'This is very, very bad. Does Romulus know how good these guys are? Wait, are they all as good as he is?' _Arthur continued contemplating while wearing a worried expression on his face, broadcasting his concern to anyone who bothered looking his way.

Beside him, Lovino sat silently. His heart was racing, his palms were sweating, and his cheeks took on a shade of red that could only rival the blood pumping through his veins. He tried to calm down, but he felt a light tingling erupt in his chest as he watched the Spaniard tear down the field without mercy. The fierce look in his eyes made the Italian shiver and he closed his eyes, trying to mentally slow his blood circulation.

_'Just think of Romulus in a bikini,'_ he told himself. _'No, that takes too much imagination. What else? Feliciano in a bikini? That's just weird. Pft, he'd probably like it, too. That idiot.'_ With his thoughts now on his brother, Lovino's heart began to calm. His blood no longer lingered in his southern regions and his palms stopped sweating.

He opened his eyes to see forest green eyes peering at him in curiosity, a content smile just below them. Lovino froze and processed the situation, his face growing hotter as he realized he could feel a ghost of the Spaniard's warm breath kissing his lips.

"W-Wha-? Haven't you ever heard of p-personal space, bastard?" The Italian nearly shrieked, shoving the boy before him. Antonio laughed softly, which ended up acting as a defibrillator and got Lovino's heart pumping at least three times faster than he was sure it was supposed to be beating. The tanned boy merely smiled down at the brunette and ruffled his hair, commenting on how cute he was.

Lovino found himself at a loss for words, for the moment Antonio made contact with his body, it was like being hit full-force by a charging bull. He couldn't breathe nor think properly, so he merely let out an embarrassing mewl of pleasure as the Spaniard accidentally tugged on a certain gravity-defying strand of hair.

Arthur chuckled quietly to himself as he watched the scene. As soon as Lovino made a strange sound, Antonio froze in place. His cheeks flushed lightly and he suddenly shifted uncomfortably. The Briton smirked, fully aware of the effect Lovino had caused. Antonio made up a half-assed excuse about needing water and bolted off, leaving the Italian to sit in confusion.

"Nice going, _Vargas_," Arthur teased, "You gave the tiger a bone."

Lovino stared blankly at the boy for a few seconds before glaring at him and blushing madly.

"What the fuck are you talking about, _Kirkland_?" He demanded. Arthur shook his head and smirked, refusing to explain himself. Lovino let the comment go, watching as the team assembled below on the field.

Alderick blew his whistle and had the team file into a line as they had before practice. Alfred saluted to the coach once more without hesitation.

"Sir, permission to be dismissed?" He asked in an even tone, talking slightly louder than usual.

"Permission granted," Alderick responded, saluting the boy in return.

Alfred dropped his hand and turned to face his team.

"Dismissed," he announced. The team disassembled and went off in different directions, some grouping together while others wandered alone. Arthur took this as the signal for Lovino and him to leave. He picked up the forgotten gift basket and walked down to the coach.

"Here. Enjoy," he muttered as he handed the man the basket. Lovino trailed behind the blond in a daze, seemingly in deep thought. In truth, he was merely confused beyond belief. His inner turmoil consisted of vicious shouting and denial galore, almost like a mental courtroom drama sped up ten times fast to sound like bickering chipmunks. Fortunately, his body moved automatically as he followed Arthur off the field.

_'That boy, _"El Tigre"_,' _Arthur thought to himself, _'He's a threat to the twins.'_

The blond looked over at the brunette stumbling behind him. His cheeks were lightly flushed, his eyebrows were knitted together and his eyes never left the floor.

"Maybe in more than one way," he muttered to himself.

**

* * *

/AN/: **So, I couldn't quite fit both names in, but the official names for the teams have been decided. Romulus' team is the _**Orbis Terrae Tomato Stompers**_, while Aldrick's team is the _**Spaera Wurst Wringers**_. Also, on a side note, _'Orbis Terrae_' is latin for 'Of The World', while '_Spaera_' is latin for 'Globe'.  
Aldrick's team is made up of: Gilbert (Prussia), Antonio (Spain), Francis (France), Matthew (Canada), Alfred (America) and Ludwig (Germany). Ludwig was only briefly mentioned, but he'll be in the next chapter.  
Bye~!


	3. Chapter 3

**Mercy Rule  
**

**Summary:** Two rival football teams battle it out to get to the Nationals. But what happens when opposing players become star-crossed lovers? Mainly Spamano, USUSK, GerIta with side pairings.

**Rating: **T

**Pairing(s): **SpaMano, USUK, GerIta, PruCan, hints of FrancexEveryone

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia.

**Note(s):** I'm sorry this took so long to update~! My computer's been messing up and has been messing up and just gaaaah. Enjoy this chapter?

* * *

It had been three days since Lovino and Arthur returned from their encounter with the Spaera Wurst Wringers when Feliciano had had enough. The training had become intense and the bursting excitement that had once filled his heart at the mention of football practice had been shadowed by a cloud of dread. He could barely move without an aching pain striking somewhere on his body and it was starting to drive him nuts.

So, the brunette boy decided to see what the fuss was about. The team didn't have practice on Mondays, due to Romulus having to maintain his second job as manager of his family restaurant. After much thought, Feliciano had devised a plan to sneak out tomorrow morning and find out just how good the opposing team was.

However, the plan was known only to him and he hoped to keep it that way. As his brother was getting ready for bed, the younger Italian decided to waltz into their shared room and casually get the location of the Wrust Wringer's practice space out of him.

"Fratello, are you busy?" Feliciano asked softly, peeking his head around the door frame. He spotted the shirtless older Italian fussing over his own reflection in their bathroom, shifting from his side to his front and muttering about how unattractive the slight bulge in his stomach was. The younger Vargas covered his mouth to avoid laughing too loudly, opting instead to chuckle quietly to himself.

"Fratello?" He asked again, a hint of amusement in his voice. Lovino's eyes widened and he flailed wildly, trying to figure out what to do first before yelling at his brother. He decided that covering himself would be the best choice and grabbed a shirt off the floor, pressing the fabric against his naked torso.

"H-haven't you ever heard of knocking? Seriously, Feli, is it so hard to get a little privacy around here?" He yelled out automatically, his cheeks reddening as he spoke. Feliciano smiled, unable to conceal his mirth, and shrugged.

"You left the door open, Lovi," he explained, pointing at the open door. Lovino sputtered for a moment before glaring at his brother.

"What do you want, fratello?"

Feliciano took a deep breath, going over the lines he had spent hours practicing just a few minutes earlier, and smiled.

"I just came to get ready for bed," he stated simply. The boy walked into the room and walked over to his dresser to collect his pajamas.

"How has your week been?" He asked casually. Lovino eyed him in suspicion but complied.

"Well, it's been pretty..okay, I guess," he answered.

"What did you think about the other team?" Feliciano inquired, manipulating the conversation. It had noticeably worked to his advantage, as his brother didn't seem to get defensive about it.

"They're good, Feli, I'm not gonna lie. Better than I thought they would be," he paused, a light blush flowing onto his cheeks, "A-and they have some...interesting players, I guess."

Feliciano nodded, going along with the conversation.

"What do you mean by interesting?" He asked, noticing the blush on his brother's face. Lovino groaned but answered nonetheless.

"They're pretty average, save for this one guy," he paused again, "They call him '_Antonio El Tigre_'."

Feliciano searched his brother's eyes in curiosity, surprised by the sudden seriousness in his tone. _'Antonio The Tiger?'_, he thought to himself, _'Sounds scary.'_

"He's...he's something," Lovino continued, a puzzled expression accompanying the bright red blush on his face. The younger Vargas felt his curiosity increase as he noticed his brother's expression change from puzzled to dreamy in seconds.

"He's a complete idiot by nature, but when he's on the field...ah, you should see him, fratello," Lovino thought aloud, "He's absolutely beautiful."

Realizing he had been thinking aloud, Lovino froze. His hand immediately flew up to cover his mouth, fearing that more of his inner dialogue would shoot out had he not done so. Feliciano stared at his brother in shock, bewildered.

"Fratello, did you just...?"

"I-I didn't-!"

"You opened up to me!" Feliciano exclaimed as he flung himself onto his beloved brother, wrapping his arms around the boy's shoulders while nuzzling his chest.

"Get off me, idiot," the older brunette demanded. The younger Vargas fought the urge to obey, remembering his initial plan.

"Not until you tell me where the team practices!"

Lovino let out an annoyed groan, shaking his head in irritation.

"Well, let's see. They're the football team of Spaera High School, I wonder where they would practice? Surely not at their own high school!" The boy shoved his brother off of him, muttering about the stupidity of his fratellino.

"Oh. That's smart, ve!" The younger brunette commented. Lovino just shrugged and walked over to his bed, too worn out to make any witty remarks. Feliciano bopped over to his own bed across the room, unable to resist the urge to dance out his victory. He had gotten the information he needed and was excited for the next morning.

* * *

Feliciano often got thirsty in the middle of the night – most likely due to his terrible habit of slobbering all over his pillow – and at 4:47 sharp in the AM, he decided that the strange feeling of a dry throat was too much to bear. Though as he sat up in his mass of fluffy comforters, he couldn't help but notice the lack of intelligible mumbling in the air.

Lovino was known to talk in his sleep, though he'd deny it if you ever questioned him. His unconscious babble often was often a variety of curse words and random nouns, always softly spoken and serving as a comfort to Feliciano.

However, the room was at a stand still.

The younger Vargas ceased his contemplations and strode over to his brother's bed. The brunette towered over his brother's form, trying to take a peek at the boy. He gently tapped his brother's back, which was facing him, and waited for a response. Lovino's body visibly stiffened before turning around to face his brother.

"Fratello? What are you doing up?" Feliciano whispered, head tilted in confusion. The older Vargas rolled his eyes and moved the sheet covering the lower half of his face.

"What does it look like? I can't sleep," he muttered, "Why does your voice sound so scratchy?"

Feliciano blinked before unconsciously rubbing his throat. He had completely forgotten about his reason for getting up. Lovino glanced at his brother's hand, understanding that the gesture either meant that his brother had lost his voice or was out on another water run as per usual.

"Whatever, just get back to bed soon," he said, finalizing the conversation. Feliciano nodded before leaving the room and making a beeline for the kitchen. His mind wandered peacefully as he collected a cup from the cupboard and filled it with water. His eyes wandered to the clock as he carried his cup back to his room.

_'I still have at least two hours before I have to leave,'_ he thought to himself,_ 'Lovi should be passed out by that time.' _Smiling at the thought of his plan, Feliciano yawned before setting down his cup on the nightstand beside his bed. As he took a sip of water, he closed his eyes and listened intently for his brother's breathing. Lovino hadn't said anything when the younger Vargas returned to the room, which meant he was either asleep by now or at least trying to fall asleep.

Feliciano sighed contentedly and crawled back into bed, lying on his side and facing his brother. He smiled and closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he tried to picture what the team would look like.

* * *

It was 7:39 AM when Feliciano woke with a start. His eyes immediately flickered to the clock as he scrambled to silence its incessant screeching. After slamming his hand on the 'snooze' button, the brunette slowly looked over at his brother. Somehow, the boy was still sleeping soundly.

The younger Vargas had little time to feel relieved as he quickly pulled on a pair of cargo shorts and threw on an 'Orbis Terrae High School' sweatshirt to cover his undershirt. As he made grabbed his phone and began walking over to the door, Feliciano froze at the sound of Grandfather Romulus chatting rather loudly on the phone. He felt all sense of victory drain out of his pores and take the form of perspiration as he realized that he'd have to sneak out of the window in order to be as silent as possible.

The boy glanced at the clock: 7:43 AM. He took a deep breath, took one last look at his brother, then tip-toed over to the window and opened it just enough to fit through. He thanked the lord that his brother preferred sleeping on the first floor of the house, (which he had held against him for forcing him to give up the beautiful view upstairs for a faster exit), and braced himself for the worst. He held his breath as he quickly jumped out the window and somersaulted on the grass.

After brushing off the stray pieces of grass from his clothing, Feliciano looked back up through the open window as he slowly closed it. Lovino still seemed to be sleeping, which meant the plan had been successful. The younger Vargas wasted no time as he speed-walked down the sidewalk with a nervous grin on his face.

* * *

Feliciano reached the Spaera High School football field in about ten minutes. His system filled with relief as he saw a group of colored dots running across the field in the distance. Excitement rushed through his veins – he had done it! His plan had worked!

"Excuse me."

The brunette froze. He turned his head slowly to reveal a tall, stoic blond boy staring intensely at him. _'Does the team have a security guard?,' _he pondered. Feliciano tried his best to smile and cleared his throat.

"Y-Yes, sir?" He asked in a shaky voice. The boy was unfazed.

"May I ask what you are doing here?"

Feliciano let out a dry chuckle and tried to calm his nerves.

"I-I...I just came to watch the team practice, please don't hurt me!" The small Italian choked on the lump in his throat as tears began to form.

"Fratello said the team was so good and that _El Tigre _was beautiful and he was blushing and I've never seen him do that when thinking about someone so I wanted to see who would do that to him and him and Arthur said they were good and we've had to practice harder and I had to sneak out of my house so fratello wouldn't kill me and now I'm going to die and I don't want to diiiie~!" At the last word, the Italian wailed helplessly and fell to his knees in tears.

The blond boy stared in panic as he watched Feliciano continue rambling through his blubbering, nearly shouting out every thought that came to his head. The blond didn't process the situation until the boy had started rambling about his virginity. At that point, he decided enough was enough and awkwardly got down on one knee in order to be at the Italian's level. He took a deep breath, ignoring all strange "Ve~" noises that the brunette muttered every few seconds, and laid a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the blond said, trying to comfort the boy. Feliciano sniffed and looked up at him, eyes still filled with tears as he wore a confused expression.

"Y-you're not?" He asked. The blond shook his head. The younger Vargas smiled instantly and, without thinking, pounced on the boy.

"_Grazie! Grazie mille!_" The boy yelled as he hugged the other, nuzzling his head into the boy's neck. The blond blushed and stiffened, awkwardly wrapping his arms around the smaller boy. Feliciano pulled away from the hug and smiled, wiping his cheeks.

"My name is Feliciano," he said with a warm smile, "Feliciano Vargas."

The blond boy stared at him in shock. Within moments he realized that the Italian that stood before him was_ the_ Feliciano Vargas, one of the Vargas brothers that were so often referred to as an unbeatable Italian tag team. He had heard stories of them being merciless players, not even stopping when an opposing team member had broken his ankle trying to stop them. But the boy in front of him had an air of innocence among him, which confused the blond.

"What's your name?" Feliciano asked. The blond switched from his thoughts back to reality and cleared his throat before answering with a monotonous 'Ludwig'. The Italian smiled and began to walk to the field, watching the team members form a line on the field.

"I'm the equipment manager," Ludwig explained as he joined Feliciano in watching the team, "I'm only on the team to keep an eye on my brother." The Italian smiled at the mention of another pair of siblings.

"You must be a very good big brother!" Feliciano said, smiling at the familiar feeling of brotherhood. Ludwig shook his head.

"I'm actually the little brother. That boy over there, with the white hair? He's Gilbert, my older brother," he explained. Feliciano hummed in understanding and stopped at the bleachers by the field. Ludwig stood by him and watched the team.

"Ve~ Which one is..._El Tigre_?" The Italian asked curiously. Ludwig pointed straight to a smiling Spaniard. The tanned boy was currently running the track with the rest of the team trailing behind him and struggling to breathe. Antonio, however, seemed to be in a tranquil state and smiled sweetly as the breeze blew his brunette locks back.

"He's very fast," Feliciano noted. The taller boy nodded and took a seat on the bleachers.

"He's new to the team. We've only had him for a few months and we've managed to get one match away from Nationals," the blond commented.

Surprisingly silent, the Italian nodded and listened.

"Alfred is also new," Ludwig said, pointing at the aforementioned American, "He's the second best on the team and was the replacement for-"

"Arthur Kirkland, ve~?"

Icy blues darted over to meet warm chocolate irises. Ludwig regained his composure and grunted in agreement.

"Yes. Arthur Kirkland," he confirmed. The blond eyed the boy, remembering exactly who he was. _'Now that I think about it, I think I've seen him before.'_

"Ve~ Fratello and I faced your team before those players were in it," Feliciano explained, gesturing to the team, "It was almost a completely different team before."

Mutual silence flowed over the two for a few minutes, both of them watching the team complete their usual practice routine.

"Fratello got a little too aggressive and ended up hurting Arthur very badly. I don't really know what happened after that besides that he got kicked off the team and somehow ended up joining ours, ve~," he continued.

Ludwig listened intently, pondering the small details that Feliciano had neglected to mention.

"How long ago was that?" He asked. Feliciano thought for a minute.

"About two years I think, ve~."

The blond 'hmm'ed to show he was listening and continued contemplating.

"I don't remember anyone that's on the team now except for those blond boys," Feliciano piped up, pointing at the water boy and a fairly exhausted Frenchman.

"Ludwig."

Feliciano jumped at the sudden voice as the blond turned to face his coach.

"It's almost time for a break. I need you to collect the equipment from the storage room and bring it out ."

The blond boy nodded automatically and left before his coach glanced at the brunette beside him and scowled.

"Why are you here again?"

Feliciano blinked and looked behind himself to make sure that he was the one being scolded. After confirming such a theory, the boy blankly stared at the man.

"Ve~ I've never been here before," he admitted. The coach eyed him before shaking his head, muttering something about Italians as he walked back over to his jogging team.

The younger Vargas had little time to ponder as he realized that he had been reduced to the loneliest number. He frantically spun around in search for his new blond friend, feeling more lost as wandered around. A loud whistle caught his attention and signaled a break for the team. A trio of friends ran over to Feliciano, smiling wide.

"Lovino, si? I remembered~!" The Spaniard attack-hugged the Italian, clinging onto him. Feliciano yelped, unsure of what was going on.

"V-Ve~! No, I'm Feliciano! _Lovi è mio fratello_," the brunette tried to explain. Antonio let go of the boy and stepped back, looking over him.

"So you're the other Vargas brother," Gilbret stated, eying him warily. Feliciano nodded, staring blankly at the others. The albino boy circled the brunette, trying to determine whether he was telling the truth or not.

"His hair seems to be lighter," Francis commented while stroking the boy's auburn locks. Once he reached the single gravity-defying strand of hair, he tugged lightly on it with curiosity. Feliciano cringed and whimpered softly, startling the other two of the trio. Gilbert smirked as Antonio gasped, leaving Francis to glance between the strand of hair in his hand and the blushing Italian.

"P-please stop that," he nearly begged. Francis gave the curl one last tug, making the boy let out an airy 'Ve~!'. The coach blew his whistle a second time, demanding that the trio use their break time wisely. With minimal whines, the boys listened and said their quick goodbyes to the still shivering Italian.

"There you are," he heard a familiar voice say behind him. The brunette turned around to see Ludwig standing before him carrying a bag over his shoulder.

"Ve, what's that for?" He asked, pointing at the bag. Ludwig sighed and gestured to the field.

"After the break, there is always a mini-football game with teammates against other teammates," he set the bag down, "Which means I have to set up quickly."

Feliciano nodded and raised his hand in excitement.

"I'll help, I'll help! It'll go by faster if two people set up, right?"

The blond thought for a moment before nodding and ordering the boy to collect another bag of equipment from the storage room. He gave him brief directions to said room before watching the Italian frolic off with a bounce in his step.

* * *

"Next to the locker room, next to the locker room," he mumbled to himself as he walked down the halls of the school. With surprising ease, he found the storage room in no time and found the bag he needed in seconds.

Upon walking past the locker room, Feliciano heard a loud, joyous laugh echo through the halls. With curiosity peaked, the brunette set down his bag and mentally debated on whether to peek in or not. A few seconds passed before his contemplation was disturbed by a familiar voice whispering. His curiosity reached a new high as he cautiously tip-toed around the corner and peeked into the room.

Before his very eyes sat Lovino sporting his trademark blush as Antonio delicately stroked his hair with a smile. The younger Vargas' eyes darted down to see the Spaniard's hand resting casually on his brother's leg. Feliciano felt his breathing hitch and slowly backed out of the room in case his brother were to discover his presence. Without a second thought, he grabbed the bag and bolted off to Ludwig.

* * *

**/AN/:**Reviews make the world go 'rouuund~!

**Next Chapter:** _Lovino's side of the story and Antonio El Tigre faces off against the Vargas Brothers for the first time!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Mercy Rule**

**Summary:** Two rival football teams battle it out to get to the Nationals. But what happens when opposing players become star-crossed lovers? Mainly Spamano, USUSK, GerIta with side pairings.

**Rating: **T

**Pairing(s): **SpaMano, USUK, GerIta, PruCan, hints of FrancexEveryone

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia.

**Note(s):** For the record, I have never attended a football/soccer game and only know what I know from playing street soccer, movies and Yahoo! Answers.

* * *

What with the rather loud screeching of the alarm clock and the lack of grace his brother displayed in his mad dash to get outside the room, Lovino had been very awake earlier than expected. His demeanor was rather grouchy, considering the mass amount of tossing and turning he had experienced the past night. His mind had refused to let him sleep; filling itself with nothing but haunting memories of an emerald-eyed beast wearing a Cheshire grin and boasting a musical laugh.

"Stupid Antonio," he grumbled. The brunette sat up and rubbed his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up. A glance at the clock told him that he had only spent five minutes reflecting.

"If I hurry, I might be able to catch that idiot," he thought aloud. With a mind made up and ready to take action, Lovino hopped out of bed and got dressed. He tossed on a plain black shirt and cargo shorts as he ran a hand through his hair to untangle his brunette locks.

After deeming himself presentable, the boy stealthily opened then slid out the window. The elder Vargas was known to be significantly less graceful than his brother, but somehow managed to plant his feet on the ground without tumbling over onto his face.

With a pat on the back and a clear idea of where to go, Lovino began his search for his little brother.

* * *

After only five minutes of light jogging, the brunette managed to spot Feliciano.

Lovino rolled his eyes as he watched his brother. The boy was practically the human embodiment of suspicious behavior, complete with a nervous smile and paranoid glances over his shoulder every other minute. The elder Vargas scoffed as he maneuvered through the stream of bushes outlining the sidewalk. He figured that he wouldn't be spotted in such a place and had to convince himself that following his brother would be worth the constant stabbing of twigs in his ribs and leaves in his face.

Thanks to the obvious determination Feliciano displayed in finding the Wurst Wringer's practice space, Lovino assumed that said location was where the nervous idiot was heading. This theory became disturbingly accurate as the elder Vargas followed his brother in curiosity. He wondered why his brother was visiting the rival team and what his motivation was.

_'What if he's a dealer? No, he's too much of a pansy for that. Then again, we're Italian, so you never know...'_Lovino took a minute to remember all the years he had spent with Feliciano and ruled this theory out.

_'Well, what if he was enlisted to be a spy for our team? Of course Romulus would choose him to do the cool jobs; he's the favorite after all.' _Lovino thought back to the painfully suspicious behavior his brother had displayed in his attempt at acting casual. He also ruled this theory out.

_'Well, there isn't a pretty girl on the team, so he couldn't be going for that. Wait. Is he going to see the team?' _Lovino froze, considering the possibility. It wouldn't be odd for a member of his team to want to see what they were going up against and after he and Arthur had made such a big deal about it, it would only be logical to be a little skeptical.

"That must be it," he mumbled to himself. Though Lovino had little time to think once he realized that his target had disappeared. His eyes darted across the area in search of his brother.

"Damnit, now what?" He thought aloud. He determined the two choices he was to make at that moment; to continue on or go back home.

_'It's not like his life is in danger. I could go home if I wanted to'_, he thought. Unfortunately, the nagging itch of curiosity gnawed at his will, effectively persuading him to continue on. With a sigh of annoyance, Lovino crawled out of the bushes, brushed himself off, and made a beeline for the sidewalk.

"This better be worth it," he grumbled as he walked.

* * *

Lovino was becoming increasingly irritated as he decided to take a quick break on a park bench.

It wasn't the sweetly chirping birds or the occasional wailing infant that got to him. Though said distractions were fairly annoying, it was the constant reminder of his singleness that set him off.

Around him walked couple after couple, holding hands and staring into one another's eyes with a sense of admiration twinkling bright. With them came along airy sighs and flirty giggles that could light up an entire city with their positive energy. It made him want to upchuck.

"What's so great about being with someone, anyway? It's not like it'll last," he inquired.

"What makes you say that?"

The boy jumped at the sudden questioning of his inquiry, surprised that a stranger would interject. He looked up to see a small Asian boy leaning against the bench. He sported choppy brownish-black hair and a blank expression as he glanced down at Lovino. The two stared at each other for a few more seconds before the younger boy seemed to have come back to his senses.

"E-excuse me, I didn't mean to impose," he said quickly, bowing slightly to the brunette. The older Vargas merely blinked and brushed it off. The smaller boy hesitated before taking a seat on the bench, bringing along a miniature brown puffball of a dog that chose to sit by the feet of his master. Lovino stared at it in curiosity, trying to determine the breed. The Asian boy cleared his throat before speaking once more.

"Not to be rude, but you didn't answer my question," he noted. Lovino sighed and nodded, recalling what the boy had asked.

"I just don't see the point of relationships," he answered honestly, "They almost never last, anyway. It's only so amazing in the beginning because of the infatuation stage. It all goes downhill from there."

The boy nodded, showing that he understood the Italian's logic.

"That's true for some cases, but you shouldn't be so quick to generalize an emotion." He looked up into the trees, as if deeply thinking about something - or someone.

"Love has it's ways. They may be confusing and even frustrating at times, but the result is always worth it. There is nothing in this world that could ever surpass the power of true love."

Lovino fought the urge to roll his eyes at the cliche way of thinking, but resisted. He knew that it was only because his lack of experience, and possibly his failed past relationship, that was clouding his vision.

"How do you know if the person is worth pursuing, though?" He asked skeptically. The boy smiled and almost seemed to be chuckling to himself.

"There comes a time when you'll be able to tell. It wouldn't be nearly as rewarding without the thrill of the chase," he concluded. The older Vargas sat in silence, reflecting on the words. He absentmindedly checked his cell phone for the time, nearly falling off the bench when he realized his break had lasted almost half an hour.

"Sorry, but I have to go. It was nice talking to you," he said to the boy, holding out a hand. The boy nodded and shook his hand with a soft smile.

"Yes, I best be on my way, also," he commented as he stood up.

"Do not lose hope," he said knowingly to the Italian. Lovino felt a light blush form on his cheeks but nodded nonetheless. He pulled back his hand and made his way down the sidewalk, mind full of speculations.

* * *

If the large printed banner titled 'Spaera High School' wasn't enough to figure out where he was, Lovino could determine his location by glancing at the field beside the school of which held a team of colored dots running in the distance. The boy let out a sigh of relief he had been holding for quite a time. He didn't have the best sense of direction and finding his way anywhere farther than two blocks from his house was considered an accomplishment.

Though as soon as he set foot on Spaera property, the sound of a whistle was heard. He heard the distinct bark of orders from the coach and watched the team disappear into the school building, save for a small group of players huddling in a circle. The brunette groaned before heading into the building, sure that his brother was stupid enough to follow the team.

With the help of a few convenient signs, Lovino found his way to the locker room. He entered the room just in time to be caught in the stampede of sweaty boys rumbling through halls to scramble back on the field.

"Ah, Feli~!"

The brunette's head snapped in the direction of the voice. To his surprise, the stampede had dispersed, leaving him and a slender tanned boy in the locker room alone. Said boy ran over to the Italian with a smile on his face. Lovino blinked in confusion and looked around him.

"I thought you had run off with Ludwig, but I guess I was wrong, heh. Hey, where'd your sweatshirt go?"

The brunette blinked again, unsure of what was going on. After mentally going over what the Spaniard had said, he sighed in annoyance and rolled his eyes.

"I'm Lovino, you idiot," he spat. It was Antonio's turn to stare in confusion as his eyes wavered up and down the Italian's body. Once his eyes landed on the boy's hair, he smiled.

"Ah, sorry! You two just look so similar," he apologized. Lovino scoffed and crossed his arms, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

"But I couldn't imagine what you would be doing here, watching the rival team," the Spaniard commented. The Italian sighed to give off the air of annoyance, (though his heart was pounding faster by the second and his hands were trembling with nervousness), and answered slowly.

"I'm only here to keep an eye on my idiot brother, nothing more. It's n-not like I came here to see _you_or anything." The elder Vargas mentally scolded himself for stuttering in his response, though it seemed to go unnoticed by the taller boy. Said boy just nodded and took a seat on the benches located next to each set of lockers.

Lovino couldn't help but glance over at the other, his eyes tracing every fine curve visible under the loose shirt the Spaniard wore. His eyes lingered on the boy's face, however, and he felt a strange longing in the form of a fluttering in his chest as he spotted the delicate looking lips that were parted ever-so slightly. Antonio looked over at the Italian, a warm smile still present as he patted the space beside him.

As he mentally kicked himself for giving in, the elder Vargas took up the boy's offer and sat beside him. The tanned boy stared over at him, his lazy green eyes taking in every detail of the boy's physical body. With a curious glint in his eye, he held up a hand and met amber eyes.

"May I...?"

Lovino blinked and nodded, unsure of what the Spaniard was talking about. He assumed that there was some strange object in his hair, as the boy reached over and softly pet the other. He rested a hand on the Italian's leg as he leaned over and tugged gently on the gravity-defying curl. The Italian felt a wave of pleasure flow through his body, making him let out a low uncontrollable moan. Antonio blinked, his mouth agape.

The two sat there for a moment; Antonio staring at the Italian as he tried to control his blood flow. As soon as Lovino opened his eyes, he saw the Spaniard's smile widen before he burst out laughing. The smaller brunette blushed more so than before and tried to swat the boy's hand away, but to no avail. In return, Antonio continued to pet the boy's hair, his cheeks tinted pink as he did so. Lovino didn't have the willpower to stop him and took note of the hand on his leg.

_'It's sort of...nice,'_he thought, sensing the warmth that came from the boy's hand. He let himself enjoy the moment and even let a small, almost faded smile slip onto his lips. Antonio was quick to notice and smiled back in an almost shy manner, his cheeks taking on a more red color. With eyes locked, the two unconsciously leaned towards one another. The Spaniard's hand slid a little higher on the brunette's leg as he began to close the gap between them.

"TONI! GET YOUR ASS OUT HE-...ere..."

The Italian froze as his eyes darted over to see a stunned albino leading a shocked Frenchman into the locker room. A moment passed before the elder Vargas shoved the Spaniard away and quickly stood up to leave. Though as soon as he bolted to the door, a pale arm shot up, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

"The other Vargas?" He asked, a scowl present on his face. Lovino resisted the urge to hide behind Antonio and nodded dumbly.

"Well, it seems we have both brothers here then, _oui_?"

Amber eyes flickered over to the blond, who wore an almost resentful expression. It was then that Antonio decided to join the trio and pulled the Italian away from his friends. He gripped the boy's shoulder firmly as he smiled over at the two.

"No need to look so displeased," he stated simply. Gilbert rolled his eyes and mumbled something under his breathe as Francis eyed the Spaniard.

"Oi, Vargas," the pale boy barked, "Come 'ere. I wanna talk to you."

Lovino glanced back at Antonio before nodding and heading over to the boy. Francis walked over to the Spaniard, whispering something along the lines of 'you better know what you're doing'. As he reached Gilbert, the Italian became increasingly aware of the height difference between him and the other. The German was towering over him, adding to the air of intimidation set off by his ruby red eyes. Said German led the brunette to the coach's empty office located beside the locker room. He ordered the boy to take a seat as he did so himself.

"Look, I'm just going to be blunt here," he started, "It's obvious you and 'Toni have this thing going on, so I'm going to make a deal with you."

Lovino felt his heart speed up in anticipation.

"I won't tell either of our coaches – and lord knows how pissed they would be if they found out – if you agree to face off against him with your brother."

The Italian blinked, unsure of how to react. A part of him was sure he'd win along side his brother; they had yet to lose a match on the field. However, another part of him was hesitant to go against the boy known as _Antonio El Tigre._ Anyone that had seen the Spaniard on the field would know not only how powerful he was, but also how fast he was. _'Are we really going to stand a chance against him?'_

Lovino frowned, realizing what his other option would lead to._ 'If we don't go against him, though...Romulus would be furious.'_He sat up and looked over at Gilbert, who was staring back. He took a deep breath before nodding and standing up.

"Deal," he responded. The German grunted in acknowledgment and stuck out a hand. The Italian reluctantly took it into his own hand, shaking it with a firm grip.

* * *

It took a total of three minutes to convince Feliciano to play a friendly game of football with Antonio. The first two minutes were spent explaining why Lovino was there, (which was answered with a simple 'You really think I didn't hear your stupid alarm clock go off, you idiot?'), and the last minute was spent determining the rules of the game.

The elder Vargas seemed to be the only one that was even remotely tense during preparation. Gilbert had told the coach that the brothers had come to challenge the team and to give the other teammates a glimpse at how the 'legendary Vargas Twins' played football. He agreed to let Antonio face off against them on the terms that the match be counted as practice for the team. Which meant that Antonio was to choose another player to help him.

Without a second thought, the Spaniard chose Alfred F. Jones to be his partner. The American agreed in an instant and the game was to begin. Lovino walked with his brother to the field, trying to get himself into the right mood to play.

"Fratello, are you okay?"

The elder Vargas turned his attention to Feliciano, who was staring at him with a concerned look.

"You're not usually nervous when when it comes to football," he commented. The auburn-haired boy turned to look at Antonio, who seemed to be making a plan with Alfred. He looked back over at his brother, who was staring at the ground with eyebrows narrowed.

"I'm fine, Feli," he eventually answered. The younger boy sighed but didn't press the issue. He gave his brother one last look of worry before moving to the center of the field. He looked up at the Spaniard across from him. The two exchanged glances at one another; smiles absent on both players. Feliciano eyed the boy with a possessive stare while in return Antonio sent him a predatory glare. In their minds was nothing but the boy who stood roughly two yards away.

Silence passed as the two studied one another, their expressions never faltering. Lovino took a deep breath and moved into a comfortable stance that would allow him to bolt after the ball with ease. Alfred sighed impatiently as he watched the duo in the middle.

The whistle blew, beginning the game. Feliciano took off with the ball, his brother running beside him as he tore down the field. It didn't last long, however, as Antonio found an opening and managed to maneuver through the brothers to get the ball from the younger one. Lovino spun around and chased after the boy.

He felt Feliciano's presence behind him as he slid and kicked the ball away from the Spaniard. The younger Vargas darted over to the ball and started down the field once more. Antonio didn't even flinch as he followed the boy. As soon as he reached the other side of the field, Feliciano kicked the ball effortlessly into the goal. The designated goalie, Francis, didn't stand a chance as the sphere flew through the air like a bullet set on it's target.

Lovino felt a sense of relief accompany his rising confidence. He figured that if Feliciano could score a goal by himself, then there was no way Antonio could beat them.

Half an hour into the game and both sides were tied with a score of 9 to 9. They had decided on a game to ten, which meant that whichever side got the last point would be the winner. The Vargas brothers showed no signs of tiring, though Antonio began to slow down. Despite his great strength and speed, his stamina wasn't his strong point. Alfred, however, continued to be at his best as he began to score goals instead of Antonio doing so.

Feliciano had the ball and was currently running at his full speed to the goal. The Spaniard was hot on his heels, though slowly beginning to totter. It was obvious he was pushing himself, though it didn't seem to concern anyone but Lovino. Said Italian was a few feet away from his brother and ran alongside him, fully knowing that the ball would soon reach him. The younger Vargas glanced over at his brother before taking a deep breath and passing the ball to him. Antonio nearly tripped in his attempt to steal the ball, which momentarily distracted Lovino.

After quickly getting his mind back on track, Lovino dribbled the ball down the field with Alfred closely behind him. Without warning, the Spaniard appeared before him. Their eyes met for a moment, making the Italian's heart skip a beat. He froze in an instant, leaving an opening for either opponent. Feliciano cursed under his breath as he rushed over to cover his brother's mistake, but it was too late. Antonio had gained control of the ball and passed it to Alfred, who sped up as he neared the goal.

Lovino blinked rapidly as he realized what had just happened. He turned to see his brother darting across the field in a sad attempt to stop the duo. His mind told him to help his brother like he was supposed to be doing, but his legs wouldn't move. He looked down to see he was nearly shaking.

Seconds passed before the Italian looked up to see Alfred making the winning goal. He ignored the joyous cheers around him and fell onto his knees, staring at the ground. _'I froze up,'_he thought. The elder Vargas hung his head in shame, criticizing himself in his head.

"Fratello."

The boy looked up to see his brother staring at him. He couldn't determine whether he was disappointed or angry, but a distinct look of fear was clear on his face. Feliciano turned his attention to the opposing team, focusing on Antonio as he received high-fives as friendly hugs as a reward. The Italian glared at him.

"He's not that bad," Lovino mumbled. The younger Vargas nearly choked on his surprise.

"Lovi, why are you defending him? He's on the _other_ team. He's our opponent, our _nemico_," the boy retorted. Lovino's eyebrows furrowed as he looked up at his brother. His words had been laced with a defensive tone, further upsetting his elder brother. The Italian stood up, brushed himself off, and locked eyes with his brother.

_"Il vostro nemico, il mio amore."_

Feliciano stared in disbelief as he watched his brother walk off. _'This can't be happening,'_he thought. His eyes roamed over the field as he tried to find Antonio. The brunette was nowhere to be seen.

"Feliciano? Are you okay?"

The Italian jumped and turned to see Ludwig. His heart fluttered lightly as he nodded.

"F-fine. I'm fine," he answered.

* * *

**/AN/: **I have a feeling that both Feliciano and Lovino were a little OOC at the end, but it was for dramatic effect~!

Translations:

_nemico_– enemy, nemesis, foe (Italian)

_Il vostro nemico, il mio amore –_ Your enemy, my love. (Italian)

**Next chapter: **_The Wurst Wringers have a celebratory sleepover! Antonio shares his view on the Vargas brothers and Alfred takes an interest in Arthur's backstory. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Mercy Rule**

**Summary:** Two rival football teams battle it out to get to the Nationals. But what happens when opposing players become star-crossed lovers? Mainly Spamano, USUSK, GerIta with side pairings.

**Rating:** T

**Pairing(s):** SpaMano, USUK, GerIta, PruCan, hints of FrancexEveryone

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia.

**Note(s): **For the record, the sleepover took place on Monday Night (the night of the football game).

* * *

After his victory against the Vargas brothers, Antonio was led by a crowd of overjoyed teens to Gilbert's house for a night of celebration. The Wurst Wringers weren't known for their companionship, yet they had a strong bond that almost mimicked a family unit. It was their ability to come together as one that had gotten them to success, soon followed by their football playing abilities.

The Tomato Stompers, on the other hand, had incredibly different dynamics when it came to their team. The Vargas brothers would be the stars of the team; eating up compliments like they were their Nonna's special pasta sauce. The rest of the team would be brushed aside by those who knew only of the Italian duo; creating tension amongst the team.

This detail was dully noted as the Wurst Wringers huddled on the floor of the German's room and shared their opinions on the opposing team. It had started with a passing comment from Gilbert about Antonio's victory, leading to a full profiling session about the team as a whole.

"They don't seem very strong," Francis said, "If it weren't for those brothers then they would hardly be known."

Alfred sighed rather loudly at the comment and rolled his eyes.

"It's always about them, isn't it? What's so great about 'em, anyway?" He nearly yelled, shaking his fist in the air as if to show his dissatisfaction to all in the room. The Spaniard looked over at the blond in interest.

"They're very good players, Alfred," he stated simply. The American huffed and crossed his arms over the pillow pulled against his chest.

"Good players my ass! Did you not see the bratty one freeze up in the game?"

Antonio sighed and shrugged, a faint smile on his lips as he remembered the aforementioned moment.

"_Si,_he did freeze up, but didn't you see him before that? Such grace, such fierceness, such...skill," he recalled. The Spaniard's eyes almost seemed to glaze over as a dreamy look was present in his eyes and the lightest of blushes tinted his cheeks. Francis felt his heart drop as he caught a glimpse of the spark in the boy's eyes.

"Antonio," he snapped, waving a hand in the brunette's face. The Spaniard nearly jumped as his mind crashed back into reality. Gilbert soon caught on to what the Frenchman had seen and crossed his arms in displeasure. Alfred, on the other hand, was oblivious to the moment that had passed and continued to clench his fist in irritation.

"What about the rest of the team? There's got to be another star player! You can't tell me that they got this far all because of those two," he mused. The atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically as soon as the American had voiced his thoughts. The elder German glanced at his blond friend in slight concern, eying his reaction. Francis took a deep breath and laid a hand on Alfred's shoulder.

"_Oui_, the team does have a very special player that in fact is not Italian," he paused; for dramatic effect or for the sake of controlling himself wasn't clear; and closed his eyes, "He is actually British."

Alfred's annoyance seemed to evaporate as his interest was hooked from the moment the Frenchman had mentioned 'very special player'. Gilbert resisted the urge to shake his head as Francis reflected over the Briton. The smallest of blonds in the room fidgeted with the hem of his shirt for a bit before speaking up.

"His name is Arthur Kirkland. He was on the team before you came. A-actually...you were the one that replaced him," he explained. Alfred nodded, listening intently. Antonio, finally taking notice of the more serious atmosphere, turned to face Matthew.

"Well if he's so great then why isn't he playing instead of those Italians?" Alfred asked. Both Francis and Matthew sighed and glanced at each other; recalling the story they had wished not to tell. The Frenchman held up a finger, making it clear that he would be telling the story, and waited as the rest of the team gathered around him.

"As mentioned before, Arthur used to be on this team. He was a rude little prude, but he was the driving force of our success," he started. It was then that blue eyes became somewhat saddened as nostalgia struck. Nonetheless, the blond continued.

"Our team had faced off against the Italian brothers about two and a half years ago. Arthur was in tip-top shape and held his own against them. However, in the middle of the game..," the blond's sad stare morphed into a glare as he went on, "Lovino went a little too far."

Antonio felt his interest peek at the mention of the elder Vargas brother. He tilted his head as he listened, a somewhat worried look plastered on his face. Gilbert had his eyes closed and listened quietly, while Matthew stared at the floor in thought. Alfred hadn't lost his deep concentration as the Frenchman went on.

"We were about to win. Arthur had stolen the ball from Feliciano and was running at top speed down the field. Lovino had ran ahead of him and slid to get the ball. Only, his foot wasn't anywhere near the ball," blond eyebrows narrowed as the exact moment replayed in Francis' head, "Lovino had purposely missed the ball and aimed full force for Arthur's ankle."

All in the room seemed to wince in unison as they almost felt the familiar jolt of pain in their own ankles.

"As you can imagine, we lost the game. We found out that Arthur had a broken ankle; meaning that he was no longer able to run nor play for a long time and thus, he was removed from the team. It was then that both you and Antonio were recruited to lead us back to success," the blond explained.

Alfred nodded and looked down at the floor in contemplation. Antonio wasn't quite sure what to say at this information and scratched his head in denial.

"Well, how do you know it wasn't an accident, though?" He asked quietly. Francis sent a glare in the boy's direction.

"Antonio, there is no way that it was an accident," he answered firmly. The brunette stared at the blond with a hint of defensiveness, encouraging a glare from him. Gilbert looked between the two, uncomfortable with the slight tension between them.

"'Toni, the kid isn't exactly a saint," he reasoned. The Spaniard shifted his stare over to the boy, opting for a look that said 'stay out of this' instead of his previous expression. Gilbert looked away almost immediately, though went on with his own musings.

"Plus, he beat up his own teammate and got his team disqualified. You can't tell me he's not competitive, 'Toni." (1)

Antonio shook his head, unwilling to listen. Francis scoffed and crossed his arms, mumbling something under his breath. The Spaniard glared over at him.

"Excuse me?" He instigated. Before the Frenchman could reply, Alfred decided to speak up.

"I wanna meet 'im," he mumbled. The trio blankly looked over at the blond, unsure of what to say. Matthew blinked and gently tapped his brother's shoulder.

"Alfred, could you repeat that? I-I could've sworn you said-"

"I wanna meet 'im," the American repeated louder than before. Gilbert looked over at Matthew, unsure of how to respond.

"Hey, Francis?"

The Frenchman snapped his attention to the American at the sound of his name and responded with an automatic 'oui?'

"I want you to tell me honestly," he began, glancing over at Antonio, "Was Arthur better than Antonio?"

His question was met with silence. All eyes darted over to the Spaniard, who blinked before wearing an open expression. Francis cleared his throat but nodded in reluctance.

"He was," he answered. Alfred locked eyes with the blond, seemingly exchanging some kind of telepathic message with him, before nodding and donning his trademark grin.

"Well, that was an interesting story! What now?"

Silence filled the room once more as the American's words were processed. The boys seemed lost at what to do next as they all sat in silence. A knock on the door was soon followed by Ludwig entering with a stack of boxes giving off a greasy aroma known to trigger animalistic greed among all budding teens. The team waited for Ludwig to set the boxes down and back away a few feet before attacking the food as per usual.

The rest of the night was spent hour after hour playing whatever video game Gilbert could sneak into his room without Ludwig noticing. The younger German had spent his time alone in his room, suspiciously happier than usual. Alfred and Francis were determined to figure out why the blond had seemed more upbeat than usual, but Gilbert refused to let them investigate.

"It isn't often that _mein bruder_ actually smiles, so fuck off," as he had put it so delicately. The duo agreed and went back to their button-mashing session that continued to the wee hours of the morn.

* * *

The Wurst Wringers, (excluding Ludwig), proved to be surprisingly deep sleepers. For when it struck two in the afternoon, they hadn't even stirred as Alfred sneakily slipped out of his sleeping bag and through Gilbert's front door. Most of the boys had stayed awake until 8 in the morning; when even Gilbert, who had downed two and a half bottles of sugar-filled energy drinks, couldn't stand to keep his eyes open any longer.

The American made his way from Gilbert's house to the bus stop just a block away. He hadn't bothered to change his clothes as he was perfectly content with strutting around in red football shorts and a baggy Captain America t-shirt. However, he had managed to slip on his beloved red, white and blue Nikes and his trademark bomber jacket.

Upon reaching the bus stop, Alfred took a seat on the convenient bench placed next to the bus stop sign and reflected quietly.

"Better than _El Tigre_, eh?" He thought aloud. The American closed his eyes as he thought back to when he first had joined the team.

He had simply heard a rumor that a player was getting kicked off his school's team and, being an athletic youngster himself, decided to ask the coach about it. Alderick didn't even flinch at the mention of his team's flaw and let Alfred try out. After getting on the team, the American had mentioned a buddy of his who had taught him all he knew and thus Antonio was invited to join the team.

The blond smiled as he remembered the first few weeks of being on the team. There had been slight awkwardness due to him taking the spot of a former Wurst Wringer, but the team seemed genuinely glad that he had joined. Gilbert immediately became one of his best buds and he already was on good terms with Matthew. It was Francis that had been the only one to give him dirty looks and even tripped him once or twice when they were jogging the track. The Frenchman's resentment didn't last long, however, for he soon began to warm up to Alfred and they became good friends.

Alfred let both his mind and eyes roam once he got onto the bus. He had been to Orbis Terrae High School three or four times to support a childhood friend of his by the name of Tony. He mentally thanked his strange E. T-obsessed friend as the road and landmarks soon became familiar to him. After three stops, the American thanked the driver and let himself off the bus.

"Alright. If I remember correctly, the field should be around...here!" The blond has successfully located the grassy field and patted himself on the back. He looked around to try and spot a single football player, but none seemed to be present. The only person on the field was a young blond putting away a plastic table and carelessly throwing bottles of water into a cooler. Alfred sighed loudly and walked over to the bleachers, plopping down in disappointment.

"Well, so much for meeting him," he mumbled. He ran a hand through his dirty-blond locks and looked over at the water boy. Said boy seemed to be muttering something under his breath as he packed up the table to the side of the field. Once the table was taken care of, the boy limped over to the cooler and glared down at it.

"Wait...he's limping," the American thought aloud. A light-bulb went off in his head and he jumped on to his feet before running over to the boy.

"Hey! Hey kid!"

The blond boy turned away from the cooler and stared at the other, narrowing his eyebrows in irritation. Alfred stopped in front of the boy and grinned widely.

"Arthur Kirkland, right?" He asked excitedly. The blond's eyes widened and he backed away from the American.

"Who the hell are you and how do you know my name?"

Alfred nearly cheered as soon as Arthur had spoken, immediately recognizing a British accent. He stuck his hand out and shook the boy's hand firmly.

"I'm Alfred F. Jones and you're going to be my tutor," he stated simply. Arthur wasted no time glaring at the blond and pulling his hand away from the other in order to show his disagreement by crossing his arms.

"Excuse me? What makes you think that?"

Alfred sighed and wrapped an arm around the Briton's shoulders, ignoring the choking noises the smaller blond made as he did so.

"Look. I know we're on opposing teams and all, but you have knowledge about something I want and I have knowledge about something you want," he started. Arthur merely scoffed but wasn't able to reply as Alfred continued soon enough.

"I want to know how to become a better player. When people look at my team, they see a Spanish prodigy and his American side-kick just tagging along. I'm tired of being backup, you know? It's one thing to be second best, but it's another to be over-shadowed by someone who's just speed and strength," he explained.

Arthur seemed to calm down and nodded, sympathizing with the boy. However, his understanding attitude soon dissolved into something of annoyance as he thought a little more.

"What do I have to gain from teaching my enemy how to become better?" He inquired. Alfred smiled softly and pulled away from the blond.

"I'll teach you how to play football again," he answered, "Without hurting yourself."

The Briton now became skeptical. He ran through a mental list of physical therapists he had been to and let his doubt become visible on his face. The American seemed to notice this and leaned down to untie his left shoe. Arthur watched blankly, unsure of what to think.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Alfred smiled and pulled down his sock to show a large scar just above his ankle.

"Three years ago, I broke my fibula," he stated, pointing to the back of his shin, "Had to get surgery and everything. But look at me now!"

The boy stood up once more and dribbled an imaginary football and shot it into an imaginary goal. He pumped a fist into the air and grinned over at the blond, of whom was desperately trying not to smile.

"How can I teach you if I can't show you?" He asked. The American waved his had dismissively as he answered.

"You can just tell me how to do things. It's how our coach does it."

Arthur scoffed and continued to question the boy.

"And if that doesn't work? I'm not going to waste an hour of my time explaining to you how to properly dribble a ball," he argued. Alfred slipped his shoe back on and walked over to the blond.

"I'm not stupid, I know how to dribble a ball by now!" He responded.

"You're missing the point. Romulus is already breathing down our necks because of that little mistake Lovino made yesterday. Even though I'm not playing, I still have to show up to the practices and-"

"Who said you have to show up?"

Arthur openly glared at the other for daring to interrupt him. The American was unfazed.

"I'm on the team. I have to show up to the practices," he answered slowly. Alfred sighed and shook his head.

"Why? So you can watch the Vargas brothers work themselves to exhaustion then throw them a bottle of water when they're done? Anyone can do _that_."

Arthur almost growled and shoved a finger to the boy's chest.

"That's not all I do, you twat. Why don't you educate yourself before you open that big mouth of yours?"

Alfred snorted and moved closer to the blond.

"Don't you want to beat those big shots? Francis said you were better than Antonio and that's saying a lot. If you have that much talent then why don't you want to show it off?"

When the smaller blond responded by just glaring at the him, the American continued.

"I can teach you how to run again. I can teach you how to dribble a ball and make a goal. How can you just sit there and watch them take the fame when you're better than both of them combined?"

Arthur shook his head and stared at the boy.

"..you can't take 'no' for an answer, can you?"

Alfred crossed his arms.

"If I want something, I'm not giving up until I get it."

The Briton seemed to consider his options as he stopped glaring at the taller blond and closed his eyes. He felt his cheeks heat up as the boy moved closer to him; just close enough to let his breath ghost over the smaller blond's lips.

"Well?"

Arthur opened his eyes and stared at the American. He felt his heart begin to race as their eyes locked.

"Meet me here at 2:30 sharp tomorrow afternoon. If you're late by anything more than ten seconds, I'm leaving."

Alfred smirked as the feeling of victory came over him. He leaned forward and smashed his lips onto the smaller blond's, almost jumping in surprise as the boy kissed back just a few seconds into the kiss. The American pulled away and smiled before waving at the Briton as he jogged back to the bus stop.

"I'll be here!"

* * *

**/AN/:** (1) – If you're wondering how Gilbert knew about the fight in Chapter 1, I don't think it would be too far-fetched to imagine that Alderick had explained to his team why the Tomato Stompers were going up against them.

So, USUK has been established! If it seems rushed then good because I'm going for different types of relationships in this story. PruCan should show up soon enough, but it's more of a side pairing that just kind of happens in the background.

**Next: **_Romulus works the team to make up for the lost match, tension between the Vargas brothers continues to rise and Francis must make a decision. It's gonna be a long one, guys! _


	6. Chapter 6

**Mercy Rule**

**Summary:** Two rival football teams battle it out to get to the Nationals. But what happens when opposing players become star-crossed lovers? Mainly Spamano, USUSK, GerIta with side pairings.

**Rating: **T

**Pairing(s): **SpaMano, USUK, GerIta, PruCan, hints of FrancexEveryone

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia.

**Notes: **This took waaay too long to update. I apologize and hope you guys enjoy this chapter~!

* * *

It was day two after the football match and Romulus had become merciless when it came to practice. He demanded that the team run nearly two miles every day and each session lasted at least three hours. Though the Vargas brothers had been the ones to get the strictest treatment. Feliciano had been training hard and rarely faltered during practice, earning him the privilege of being on Romulus' good side. Lovino, however, had no such luck.

The elder Vargas was the one who had been worked the hardest due to his mistake during that fateful match against two of the Wurst Wringers. Romulus gave him no wiggle room during practice and even after practice considering the fact that they lived together. The man banned any junk food from the house and put the brothers on a diet that just barely included pasta in it.

Lovino was currently staring at his reflection in the Vargas brothers' shared bathroom. He had just gotten home from practice and decided to rid himself of the stench sweat came with. After drying his hair and slipping on his undergarments, he became distracted by his own physical form. No longer did his arms look like noodles as he seemed to have gained some definition in _almost _all places. _  
_  
"Stupid stomach," he grumbled. His hand lightly grazed his own torso in curiosity. His muscles had never been so visible, which left him to wonder if his teammates were experiencing the same thing. '_Or El Tigre_,' a voice in his head purred. His cheeks instantly reddened and he tore his eyes away from the mirror to finish dressing.

* * *

It wasn't long before the brothers were called down for dinner.

Lovino trudged down the stairs and mentally groaned as he awaited to find what new diet food he would have to shovel down his gullet. He spotted a fatigued little Italian dragging himself to the dining room with a cautious expression and avoided eye contact as he joined him.

The tabletop was a circle of polished redwood, meaning that all three dinner attendees would have to sit next to one another. There was no escaping the uncomfortable aura the brothers created as soon as they sat at the table; complete with the occasional glares between the two. Lovino purposely scraped his fork against his plate as he ate, making Feliciano cringe before gaining an irritated glint in his eyes.

Romulus hadn't the slightest clue what to do. He figured Feliciano was mad at his brother for losing the match, but something told him that Lovino was equally - if not _more_- upset with his brother for some reason.

"Is there something wrong, boys?" He inquired with much reluctance. He prepared himself for any sudden bursts of yelling that were sure to come and gripped the table in hopes that it wouldn't go flying.

"No," the brothers answered in unison.

Romulus looked suspiciously between the two and hesitantly released his grasp on the table. He blinked and moved to pinch himself in the arm. _'It's..not a dream?,' _he thought.

"Lovino?"

The brunette in question sat up slightly straighter before meeting his grandfather's eyes as if to ask 'what?' The Italian man cleared his throat and rested his hands in his lap.

"You're not..yelling," he stated simply. The boy gave him a deadpan stare before nodding, confirming the statement.

"Why aren't you yelling?" Romulus asked. Lovino rolled his eyes and looked back down at his plate, picking at a pile of steamed vegetables.

"There's nothing to yell about," he mumbled, "I'm not mad."

Feliciano looked up at his brother in concern. He felt a pang of guilt strike his heartstrings and set down his fork.

"Lovi?"

Instantly, the elder of the brothers was back in his default mood and glared over at the boy, daring him to continue talking. Feliciano sighed and shook his head in defeat.

"If you're not mad, then why were you two giving each other dirty looks?"

Lovino shrugged as his brother bit his lip. The younger of the two struggled to maintain his silence.

It was obvious what the risk would be if he cracked. In an attempt to keep it together, the boy stuffed his mouth with food and chewed slowly to keep any chance of speaking at bay. Lovino took note of this strange behavior; as did Romulus.

"Feliciano...," he cooed. The younger Vargas stared down at the table and continued to chew; mentally repeating the pleading mantra of _'don't tell him, Lovi will hate you'_in his head.

The eldest Italian at the table cleared his throat and unleashed his special 'tell-me-what's-going-on-or-you're-grounded' look. Lovino faced the man with a dull stare. Romulus took a deep breath, as if to prepare himself, and turned to Feliciano.

"Feliciano Veneziano Vargas."

Unfortunately, the brunette's eyes happened to slip and for a split-second, met with his grandfather's. His mental mantra grew louder and more panicked as he managed to swallow the last of his food. He took a deep breath, ignored the intense stare he could feel coming from his brother's direction, and opened his mouth.

"Lovi's gay," he stated.

Silence.

Then a sudden burst of laughter, followed by a fist being pounded on the table.

"Oh, jeez! You had me worried there for a second!" Romulus exclaimed between fits of hollering guffaws.  
Lovino crossed his arms and waited patiently for the man to stop; his cheeks reddening as he did so. Feliciano seemed to have stopped processing what danger was in store for him and sported a cheeky grin.

After a few more minutes of laughing, Romulus had calmed down and held a hand up.

"Oh, Lovi. There's no need to be so shy about something like that," he said in a comforting tone. The elder Vargas only gave him an irritated glare in response.

"Besides, it's not like it wasn't obvious," the Italian man continued.

Silence filled the room once more, though it was a different type of silence; a more familiar silence that often lingered in the Vargas household.

Romulus waved both his hands in front of himself in defense.

"No, don't get me wrong, Lovi! You've just never shown interest in girls, so I thought-"

Lovino quickly pulled his chair out; making a screeching noise sound through the room. He stood up, calmly pushed his chair in, and ascended up the stairs. The two remaining Italians exchanged glances before deciding that the younger of the two should go after the boy.

Feliciano immediately rushed to his shared room and twisted the knob in hesitation. Surprisingly, it was left unlocked. After taking a deep breath, and preparing himself to dodge anything that would be thrown at him, the young Italian opened the door and peeked in.

He mumbled a confused, 'Ve~?' before fully opening the door. His eyes scanned over the room as he cautiously stepped in.

"Big brother? Where are you, ve~?"

Now over the initial paranoia that came with following an angry Lovino, the brunette had taken to searching the room. He went over to the window to see it still in the same condition he left it in; closed and covered by curtains. Both beds seemed untouched and he easily spotted his brother's bright red phone sitting atop his matching pillow. The bathroom door was wide open and he had already checked the tub and cabinets to find them looking just as they did in the morning.

_'Is he in the closet?'_The Italian thought to metaphors aside, Feliciano found himself slowly approaching the closet door as if he was reliving a childhood fear. He reached for the doorknob and took a deep breath once more. However, as he turned the knob, he realized that something was blocking the door from opening.

"Lovi..," he mumbled. He sighed in defeat and released his grip on the doorknob. His eyes lingered on the door for a moment before he turned and left the room.

Once downstairs, he quietly informed Romulus of the boy's whereabouts and collected the dishes to be washed.

* * *

_'Is he still out there?'_

Lovino had been sitting in his closet for around two hours now and was beginning to grow anxious. He had initially locked himself in to have some self-reflection time, but grew impatient as he began to think Feliciano was outside the door waiting for him. Tired of waiting for some kind of sign, the boy moved the chair he had dragged in there, twisted the doorknob and quickly pushed the door open.

"No one," he mumbled to himself. The boy sighed in relief and walked over to his bed to grab his phone to check the time.

He nodded to himself and glanced over at the closet door. The brunette couldn't help but smirk as he shut it closed and walked over to the window. He ran a hand through his hair once before carefully moving the curtains and opening the window just wide enough to slip out through it. Unlike last time, he managed to land on his feet rather gracefully and quietly closed the window.

"See you in the morning, _fratello_," he mumbled.

Without another word, Lovino strode down the sidewalk. Every few minutes a car would zip by him, making him swerve towards the grass that bordered the concrete. Looking up at the stars, the brunette felt a calm breeze brush his bangs and send a shiver down his spine. The moon was only a quarter present but still managed to make all surroundings glow naturally without the interference of artificial light.

The elder Vargas took a deep breath and realized his feet had taken him to the park. As he walked through the grass, his eyes pinpointed a figure sitting atop the monkey bars on the jungle gym. The boy hesitated before turning to the left and heading over to the playground. Nostalgia lingered in his chest as his fingers delicately traced the plastic of the slide; memories flashing in his mind. He slowly climbed the steps of the jungle gym and stopped just beside one of the poles holding up the bars. He shyly glanced up and felt a wave of surprise shake his peaceful state.

The figure hadn't even noticed his presence, giving Lovino more time to absorb the situation he was in. Before him sat _the _Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, who was gazing up at the stars and mumbling something to himself. The moonlight illuminated his tanned skin and made the green in his eyes look almost unnatural as they sparkled in a mystical nature.

The Italian felt his heart beat stronger and could practically hear it do so as he reached to touch the Spaniard's hand. The elder boy suddenly shook his head and let out a sigh. The ghosts of a few muttered words were hidden under his breath as he slid his hands on the metal bars and looked to the ground.

Lovino felt a pang of guilt as he watched the boy and wondered if leaving would be the best decision. Before he could make a move, he heard the sound of wood-chips crunching and whipped his head towards the noise. Staring back at him were those once piercing eyes taking in the sight before them. Antonio blinked a few times before the corners of his lips tugged upwards and he walked over to the Italian.

"Lovi," he whispered sweetly. The elder Vargas felt his heart skip a beat as soon as he was addressed and gripped onto the pole he had been resting against. The two stared at one another a few seconds longer before breaking eye contact to look down in insecurity.

"What were you saying?" Lovino heard himself ask. The words had somehow gotten past his internal filter and slipped out without a second thought. Antonio's eyes darted to the side before he decided to take a seat on the steps of the jungle gym. The Italian resisted the urge to join him and stayed in place as he waited for a response.

"I was just thinking out loud," the Spaniard answered after a few minutes, "How long have you been here?"

Lovino shrugged and turned towards the boy.

"Um..well, I should probably be heading back now," Antonio said quietly as he stood up. He glanced over at the Italian and seemed to be making a mental decision. He slid a hand in his pocket and took a deep breath before making eye-contact with the brunette. He wore a nervous expression and a forced smile on his lips as he looked at the boy.

"Would..you like to see where I live?" He asked in a shaky voice. Lovino couldn't fight the shy faded smile that automatically formed or process the nod of his head that came soon after. Antonio's nervousness swiftly dissolved into joy as he held out a hand to the Italian. The brunette stared at the hand for a moment as he thought back to his brother and grandfather.

_'Screw it,'_he thought as he took the other boy's hand and allowed him to guide the way.

* * *

It was 12:41 AM and Feliciano couldn't bear the deafening silence that had filled his bedroom.

He hadn't walked within a two-foot radius of the closet and was starting to consider checking on his brother. He hadn't heard a sound come from the closet and felt a bit concerned.

This hadn't been the first time Lovino had chosen to lock himself up somewhere. Though he hadn't ever isolated himself for more than two hours, as he would usually get bored or uncomfortable and get out. Feliciano sighed and swung his legs over the side of his bed while rubbing his sleepless eyes. He sluggishly got out of bed and sat down beside the closet door.

"Lovi, please get out already," he pleaded. He knocked on the door and waited for any sign of life on the other side. After two minutes of silence, the Italian whined loudly and leaned on the door.

"Lovi, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have told Nonno or be mad at you for _finally _liking someone even if he's on the other team and please just get out of the closet already, ve!"

The brunette waited a few seconds before tears began to form, making the Italian lose all composure he had. Tears poured down as he pounded his fists on the door in desperation.

"Lovi, please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Just please come out and I'll do whatever you want, I promise!"

As soon as the boy had finished his sentence, the door creaked open. Feliciano gasped and stood up, swinging the door open as he did so.

"...Ve?" He muttered in confusion.

He stared at the contents of the closet for a few more seconds before quietly closing the door and going over to the window. Unsurprisingly, it hadn't been completely closed and let a gentle breeze blow into the room. Feliciano made a beeline for his brother's bed and searched it for the same phone he had spotted hours before only to end up empty-handed.

"Lovi..," he whined. He rubbed his arm as several thoughts went through his mind. He didn't linger on the reason his brother wasn't in their room, however, but instead hoped that he would return by the morning. With a sigh, Feliciano trudged over to his bed and sat down.

"He has until six 'o clock," he decided, staring at the clock on his bedside table. The brunette nodded and waited patiently, humming a song as he did so.

* * *

Antonio's house was larger than what Lovino had expected.

It was a pale yellow two-story house with a garage door on each side of the front. The Spaniard had explained that his family shared half the house with the Bonnefoy family and therefore lived with his best friend. Lovino was told to wait outside while Antonio went inside and up to his room. A convenient tree was planted in the perfect location to grant access to the boy's window and Lovino took note of this as he climbed it. The Spaniard's window opened just as Lovino had convinced himself that he wasn't going to fall and kill himself.

"Take the screen off, idiot," Lovino muttered quietly as he crawled to the boy. Antonio complied with the command and carefully removed the bug screen from his window before dropping it to the ground. The Italian watched the screen fall before staring at the boy in annoyance.

"..you don't even think you did anything stupid, do you?" He questioned. Antonio wisely ignored the boy and offered to help him inside. As predicted, the stubborn Italian refused help. He leaned towards the window and pushed himself off the branch with all his might as he grabbed onto the ledge of the window. Somehow, he had managed to make it inside the room without knocking anything over. He had, however, slammed his head on the hardwood floor when he had landed.

Antonio was by his side as soon as he looked up from the floor and stroked his hair softly.

"Are you okay?" He asked in concern. Lovino sat up and rubbed his head before nodding. The Spaniard nodded and smiled in relief.

"Good," he answered before turning around to walk to his closet. As soon as his back was turned, the Italian quickly wiped stray tears from his eyes and looked around the room to distract himself from his throbbing head.

The bed was decorated with red sheets, a matching comforter, and a bright red tomato plush pillow sitting in the middle of a quilt settled on the edge of the bed. The moonlight made it hard to determine the wall color and darkened nearly everything in the room. One of the only things Lovino could make out in the lighting was a large Spanish flag hanging proudly next to a bookshelf holding medals and trophies.

The Italian slowly made his way onto the bed and stared at the tomato pillow. Antonio returned from his closet sporting a black t-shirt and red pajama pants. His eyes wandered to the boy on his bed and he smiled.

"You like tomatoes, Lovi?" He asked in curiosity. Lovino scoffed and set the pillow down with a light blush.

"Of course I do. Only idiots don't like them," he replied. The Spaniard laughed and sat down beside the boy. A few moments of comfortable silence passed before each party felt the need to converse.

"Why aren't you at home?" Antonio asked seriously. The Italian shifted uncomfortably and considered his options. Though his automatic response was to lie, he felt a strange tugging sensation in the pit of his stomach at the thought of doing so. So, he decided against it.

"My brother..outed me," he mumbled.

The expected reaction was something along the lines of being forced out the window and called a string of dirty words, but all that had happened was an understanding 'hmm' from the other in the room. Lovino peeked up at the Spaniard in curiosity and saw what was most likely his deep-in-thought face. Though soon enough, emerald eyes snapped up to pierce through soft amber ones. The elder boy fidgeted with his shirt and looked down to his lap as if trying to determine something.

"May I ask you something, Lovi?"

The Italian sighed and shrugged, inviting any question the other had for him. Antonio took a deep breath and glanced over at the boy before replying.

"What..made you realize you were...you know..," he asked quietly. Lovino blushed and looked over at the Spaniard, whose red-tinted cheeks were hidden in the moonlight. He sighed and stared at the boy in the corner of his eye as he thought about how to answer. He scooted closer to the taller of the two and rested his hand on the other's. Antonio didn't seem to understand the meaning behind the body language and stared blankly at the boy in confusion. Lovino sighed and turned towards him.

"I...well, I never really...you see, I...," he tried to explain. Words escaped him as he tried to answer and only left the Spaniard more confused than before. Frustrated at this, the Italian sighed and bit his lip as he tried to help the other understand. Antonio stared at the boy as he waited for an explanation, causing the boy's heart to speed up at the attention. He sighed and shook his head before leaning closer to the Spaniard, blushing like mad, and quickly touched his own lips with Antonio's.

The elder brunette stared at the boy. His brain seemed to have short-circuited as he slowly moved his hand to feel over his own lips.

"...yes, I just kissed you, idiot," Lovino clarified.

The Spaniard blinked and stared more intensely at him. He dropped his hand onto the bed and captured the other's lips in a more passionate kiss. The Italian's eyes fluttered closed as he gripped onto Antonio's shirt to deepen the kiss. The bed creaked slightly as the Spaniard let himself move closer to the boy. The two parted and stared at one another as they caught their breath.

A smile crept onto Lovino's lips as he leaned forward and locked lips with Antonio once more.

* * *

Outside of the pale yellow house sat a dissatisfied Frenchman shaking his head in disappointment.

_'Aldrick would never allow this,'_he thought to himself.

* * *

**/AN/ : **TO BE CONTINUED. This chapter was pretty fun to write and I wish I had finished it sooner. The next chapter should be up next week! For any confusion, the football match took place on Monday. Alfred met up with Arthur on Tuesday. This chapter takes place on Wednesday and so will the next chapter.

**Next Chapter:**_ Alfred rushes to meet with Arthur. Meanwhile, Gilbert takes on the big brother role and has a chat with Ludwig about relationships._


	7. Chapter 7

**Mercy Rule**

**Summary:**Two rival football teams battle it out to get to the Nationals. But what happens when opposing players become star-crossed lovers? Mainly Spamano, USUSK, GerIta with side pairings.

**Rating:**T

**Pairing(s):**SpaMano, USUK, GerIta, PruCan, hints of FrancexEveryone

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Hetalia.

**Note(s):** This chapter takes place on Wednesday, the same day Chapter 6 took place.

* * *

Today was a challenging day for Alfred F. Jones.

It all began the instant his alarm failed to serve its purpose, leaving him to rely on his internal clock. Unfortunately, all methods of keeping track of time seemed to be on vacation that day. His watch had been a casualty in his rush to the bathroom and his phone was in need of life support.

After relieving himself, he nearly sprinted to his wardrobe and tugged the doors open.

"Of course I forgot to do the wash," he muttered in annoyance as he sifted through his remaining clean clothes. There wasn't much selection, so he settled on a plain red shirt and blue shorts that had been slightly too small on him from the start. He sighed in dissatisfaction and combed a few fingers through his rusty hair.

With a yawn, he returned to the bathroom and eyed his reflection. His hair took on the 'bedhead' look and he groaned in dissatisfaction; this could take a while.

"Stupid hair," he grumbled. He grabbed a comb and attempted to comb out his hair to flatten it.

The comb had had little to no effect and he sighed impatiently. Time for the back-up plan. Alfred ran his hands through his hair and pressed it against his head, trying to use force to keep it down. He held his hand in place for a minute or so before pulling away. His hair had successfully been put in it's place. He smiled.

"Ha!"

The hair sprang back up in defiance. He was not amused.

"Alright, time to get serious," he said as he rummaged through his cabinets. Upon finding the desired item, he smirked and stood up, shutting the cabinet doors with his socked feet. He set down the bottle and looked back up at his reflection.

"Hasta la vista, baby, " he said dramatically. He quickly snapped open the bottle lid, squeezed the gel into his palm and applied it to his dirty blond locks. He watched in the mirror as his hair continued to stick up despite the amount of gel being slathered on.

"Stop resisting, it's no use!" He exclaimed. He continued to slap on the gel until all but one hair had been defeated. He glared at it's reflection and reached for the bottle. He squeezed it just enough to let the gel out but only received a wheezing sound. He blinked and looked down at the bottle.

"Empty," he whispered in disbelief. The American looked back up to see that his hair had been completely demolished by the gel and was lying flat against his head in a less than appealing manner. He sighed and set the bottle down.

"You win this round," he grumbled once more.

He headed to the bathtub and leaned over the edge. He turned the knob and rinsed his hair, freeing it from the odor that came with the gel. Once he was sure there wasn't any remaining residue, he shut off the water, grabbed a towel and rubbed it against his hair to dry it.

He removed the towel and stared blankly at the result of his hair. It was just barely damp and fell perfectly into place, save for the single hair that refused to conform. He shrugged and hung the towel up.

Alfred made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. He spun on his heel in front of the refrigerator, grabbing on to the door and opening it as he did so. He scanned the contents of the fridge and stood deep in thought as he decided what to eat.

He settled on a simple glass of orange juice - he would save his appetite for lunch. He selected the carton and set it on the counter before closing the door. There was a bounce in his step as he danced across the kitchen to retrieve a glass. He hummed a tune as he opened the cabinet and reached up to grab the desired object.

But he couldn't reach.

"Aw, don't tell me I'm getting shorter," he whined. He pressed himself against the counter and stood on his toes as he stretched out once more for the glass. The tips of his fingers felt the smooth surface of the glass and he smiled in victory. He gently scooted the glass towards him and grasped onto it once it was tangible.

"Success~," he sang to himself.

He put the glass beside the carton and closed the cabinet. He lifted the carton with ease and shook it, dancing to the rhythm as he did so.

"That should be enough," he said to himself as he stopped shaking the carton. He smiled and opened the carton before pouring the liquid into the glass. He licked his lips once it was full and closed the carton.

"Hey Al-"

"Ah!"

The American had jumped at the sudden voice, making the carton collide with the glass. He slowly turned his head to see the damage and groaned. The glass had been sent flying off the counter and was lying on the ground in pieces; juice bleeding out from it.

"Aww, Matt! Don't scare me like that!" He scolded.

Matthew frowned and walked over to the paper towels.

"Here, I'll clean it, Al," he said. Guilt radiated off of him, making Alfred sigh and shake his head.

"No no, little bro. I got this," he replied. He took the towels from his brother and began cleaning up the spill. He glanced up at Matthew, who was watching uneasily.

"What did you need anyway, Matt?" He asked, remembering what had scared him in the first place.

"Oh, I was just wondering if you were going anywhere today," he explained. Alfred nodded and stood up to throw the towels away.

"Yeah, I was gonna meet up with a friend to practice for the big match," he answered easily. Matthew frowned and leaned against the counter as he watched his brother clean up. He looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head.

"Is the other team really that great? I mean, if we exclude the Vargas brothers, would they still be able to hold their own against us?"

The American was silent for a moment as he picked up the shards of glass, careful not to stab himself or drop a piece. After he was finished he glanced down at the mess and responded.

"They will, Matt. Don't underestimate the other players."

The Canadian nodded and stayed silent in thought. Alfred stretched his arms and made his way back to the fridge, opening it and grabbing an apple from inside in one fluid motion. He released the handle and gently pushed it, letting it close on it's own.

"Well, gotta run. Don't get into too much trouble, bro," he said with a smile. He slid on his shoes, shrugged on his Captain America hoodie and went out the door after waving to his brother.

Despite all the obstacles he had faced, the American didn't so much as glance down at the floor below him and strutted with confidence to the bus stop. His hands rested in the pockets of his cotton jacket and he smiled at the heat that radiated off the sun. He loved warm summer days and basked in the sun's glorious rays that kissed his skin with a gentle peck.

He closed his eyes as his feet made their way to familiar territory. He had a content smile on his face as he reached the bus stop and took a seat without cracking an eye open. He leaned back on the bench and listened to the sweet chirping of robins, the gentle breeze blowing his bangs to the left and the sound of a bus engine revving up and leaving.

_'Wait...no, wait!'_, he thought in a panic. His eyes snapped open and he stood up, ready to run after the bus. Unfortunately, it was already on the opposite side of the block and turning the corner. He watched as it left his sight and sat back down.

"Some day this is turning out to be," he said with a hint of annoyance. He reminded himself that he had no way to tell the time and had probably woken up around 12.

He sighed and waited for the next bus, hoping he would be able to meet Arthur on time.

"If not, I'll just use my amazing persuasion skills," he reasoned with himself.

He thought back to the kiss he had shared with the boy. He shrugged it off, thinking that it had been in the heat of the moment despite the butterflies that may or may not have fluttered in his stomach.

* * *

Alfred had finally reached the Orbis Terrae field just around 2:28 PM.

"Alright, I can still make it, I just have to find him," Alfred reassured himself.

He had no idea what time it was and had been too wary of asking a stranger on the bus due to the glares he had gotten for just being there. He tried to clear his head as he searched for a clock. He mentally kicked himself for not bringing along his phone or at least checking the time before he left.

The American wandered to the front of the school and peeked in - wondering if it was open during the summer. He pulled at the handle and, to his surprise, it opened.

"They must leave it open for the football players," he guessed. He shrugged and entered the school, stiffening at the sudden temperature change.

Orbis Terrae High School was a respectable education facility, with tall ceilings and various sets of stairs. The floors were polished to show off their marble-looking pattern and the wall colors ranged from a forest green to a bizarre toxic-looking orange. The lockers were a bland gray to match the equally unappealing staircases. Alfred took in his surroundings with an unsure expression. He wasn't sure what he thought of the school, but it did look nice, he admitted.

His eyes finally settled on an old-fashioned grandfather clock sitting under the 'Main Office' sign. He rushed over to it and examined the face to figure out the time.

"Crap..I haven't seen manual clocks in so long. If I'm doing this right then it must be...," his eyes widened in panic, "2:31. Shit."

He backed away from the clock and looked around the main hall.

"Which way do I go? There has to be a map or something somewhere," he said to himself. He tried his hardest not to panic, but his heart started speeding up at the thought of missing his meeting with Arthur.

"Crap, crap, where do I go?" He wondered aloud. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He spun three times and stopped, facing a random direction.

"That way," he decided once he opened his eyes. With a nod, Alfred turned the corner and walked straight down the hall. He was beginning to lose his sense of direction but continued with confidence; sure that the school wasn't too big and that he'd find his way eventually.

Fortunately, he had chosen the longer yet correct path to the back field and reunited with the bright outdoors sooner than expected. He wasted no time running down to the field and across it to the bleachers, his eyes searching the area for any sight of another person there.

When he reached the bleachers, he noticed a tired and fairly annoyed Arthur waiting for him.

"Hey, sorry I'm late but-"

"That's right, you are late," Arthur cut him off.

Alfred paused to catch his breath and nodded at the blond.

"Yeah, I know, but you wouldn't believe the morning I've had! I didn't even know what time it was until I got here and-"

"And that sounds like a personal problem to me. I told you 2:30 sharp," he interrupted again.

The American's eyes narrowed as the familiar feeling of being lectured washed over him. He could have sworn he saw the same look his mother gave him when he had stolen a cookie from the cookie jar at age 5. He scratched his head and turned his questioning eyes to the boy.

"Yeah, well you're still here and it's past 2:30, so we might as well do it anyway," he suggested. Arthur glared at him, still unwilling.

"Look, you don't even have to teach me anything today. I'll be the teacher today," he went on. The Briton pouted but still stood up and walked down to the other.

"Don't let it get to your head, twat. I don't like you," he muttered.

"Right, of course! This is strictly professional," Alfred agreed with a nod. Arthur huffed and glared over at him.

"Professional? Professional football teams don't help the opposing football team!"

Alfred blinked and stood in thought for a minute. He tapped his chin with a single finger as to exaggerate his contemplation.

"So theeen, you must like me," he reasoned with a playful tone, "Why else would you be doing this?"

Arthur's face lit up with a beet-red hue but was no match for the fiery irritation that was burning in his eyes.

"Shut it, Jones," he growled. The American shrugged indifferently, the ghost of a smirk still present in his sky-blue eyes.

"You got it, Artie."

* * *

Gilbert sighed as he watched his giddy younger brother shuffle into his bedroom with a phone in hand. He cringed; the word 'giddy' should never be relevant to Ludwig. It was too strange for the pale boy's liking.

But of course, he had took note of the secret smiles and almost_ glowing_ complexion his brother would hide in embarrassment whenever he came home.

At first, he speculated that maybe Ludwig had taken a few extra sips of particularly strong beer and was intoxicated. It would explain his drowsy eyelids that radiated some kind of delightful feeling and the stupid grin that was plastered on his face in the goofiest fashion possible. But then again, he never stunk of alcohol and his breath was certainly more wurst-oriented than anything.

His second theory was that maybe little Luddy had fallen in love. However, Gilbert had some difficulty imagining what kind of girl would steal his heart away. She would have to be good at following orders, probably some kind of Amazon woman that could bench almost as much as the German himself. Then again, that didn't seem like the kind of woman to make the stoic blond act like a teenager girl in his spare time.

Gilbert furrowed his brows in concentration, using his awesome big brother skills to determine just what was going on with his little brother. He shook his head and made his way to the kitchen for some thinking fuel. Maybe he would call Francis when the phone was available.

He stopped in his tracks.

_'That's right, Ludwig's using the phone right now,_' he thought. His feet backtracked a few steps and he crouched outside the younger German's door with his head tilted in the best eavesdropping position possible. He heard his brother's muffled voice and could almost feel a warm vibe coming from inside the room. He opened the door just a crack and spotted his brother. His eyes went wide.

Before him was Ludwig; hair down, fingers twirling a single lock of blond and the fairest blush just barely visible on his cheeks.

_'Love. It's gotta be love.'_

Gilbert shook his head and stood up before closing the door. He counted a full minute in his head before knocking as loudly and obnoxiously as possible. The sound of a muffled goodbye signaled the big brother senses in the elder's head and he took a deep breath.

The door was soon opened and Gilbert wasted no time inspecting the room for any suspicious clues. He snooped around for a few moments as he constructed a lecture in his head.

"Bruder, did you just come in my room to look around or-"

"Sit. Now,"

Gilbert had nearly barked the order, causing him to automatically obey. The pale boy stomped back and forth, pacing in front of his brother and building a dramatic pause.

"You see, Luddy, life is like a-"

"If you say box of chocolates, I will-"

"Pile of shit," Gilbert continued, glaring at the German for daring to interrupt.

"You never know what you're going to step in," the albino continued, "For all you know, it could be cow shit or dog shit. Sometimes you even tread in the bull shit area and get your boots dirty."

Ludwig couldn't help but stare at his brother in disgust. But before he could stop his brother's speech, the elder boy dramatically raised his voice.

"But when that happens, you can't just walk around and spread the shit. You gotta clean your boots and keep going," he summed it up.

The blond didn't seem to understand what message he was supposed to gain from the analogy and cleared his throat in discomfort.

"Right. What exactly are you trying to say?" He asked in confusion.

Gilbert rolled his eyes, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and tried once more.

"Bruder, what I'm saying is that you have to take risks and go for the gold, even if you're going to have to get some manure all over your favorite pair of jackboots," he clarified.

"And it seems to me that there may be someone in your life worth trudging through mountains of shit for," he added. Ludwig sighed and met his brother's eyes.

"You don't know that," he muttered.

Gilbert couldn't help but roll his eyes and cross his arms in a fit of annoyance.

"You should see yourself when you get home, Ludwig. You're all smile-y, and blush-y and..and _giddy_."

Ludwig frowned and looked off to the side in slight embarrassment.

"If there's someone out there that can do that to someone as hard-assed as you, then there must be something special about them," he reasoned. The blond glanced up at the albino, who had an expression of surprising seriousness.

Ludwig sighed once more and thought for a moment.

"What if...what if they're on a different side than you?" He asked.

Gilbert blinked and hummed.

"Like..east side and west side?"

The blond shrugged and nodded.

"Sure. Let's say I'm west and they're east. It wouldn't work out, Bruder," he explained.

The albino rolled his eyes and took a seat beside his brother. He stretched his back for a moment before draping an arm around his brother's shoulders, which stiffened at the contact.

"That's stupid, Luddy. Who cares what side either of you are on? It's not like you're really in gangs or anything, so there won't be any crappy play reenactments, right?"

Ludwig wasn't content with the answer and looked his brother straight in the eye.

"There's still tension between both sides. Not everyone is going to be fine with it," he argued.

Gilbert groaned and drew his arm back to rest at his side.

"Well then they can go fuck themselves. It's none of their business, anyway," he reasoned.

The blond stared at his brother in what could have been mistaken for admiration, but nonetheless, the illusion of a smile was present on his lips. The albino only reached back to scratch his lower back before getting up and walking towards the door.

"Look, I may not be good in the romance department, but I'm too awesome to not help my little bro out. Report back to me when it comes to the more intimate subjects, I know a lot about that thanks to Fra-"

"Out, Bruder."

Gilbert shrugged and left with a smirk on his lips, the faint scent of smugness lingering in the room.

He strutted back to his own territory of the house with a sense of accomplishment, mentally praising himself for being such an awesome big brother. Though this didn't last long, for his attention was suddenly caught by a faint vibration in his left pocket. His movements became incredibly less graceful as he struggled to get the mobile device out of his pocket.

His brain seemed to have forgotten every past memory of retrieving a phone from his pocket, since no matter how quickly he had managed to stuff his hand into the almost skin-tight jean pocket, he couldn't seem to grasp the actual phone. His fingers prodded the corners of the phone, edging it towards his barely-open palm. The feel of cool metal soon came into contact with his hand and he quickly pulled his arm up.

Once he finally opened the contraption, his eyebrows furrowed in curiosity at the notification on his screen.

"One missed call...one new voice-mail..," he mumbled to himself as he read. Gilbert 'hmm'ed in interest and quickly dialed his own number to listen to the voice-mail.

His expression changed dramatically as he listened; first waiting and curious then quickly shifting from listening, pondering, shocked and mischievous then finally concluding with an overall look of boredom.

"Nope, not gonna get involved. Too much drama," he decided. With a single sigh and the press of a button, the voicemail was deleted. The albino took a seat on his bed and stared at the screen of his phone.

"Sorry, Francis. Got my own love life to worry about."

He smiled sadly before shutting his phone, the picture of a violet-eyed Canadian lingering in his mind.

* * *

**/AN/:**Moved. School started. Limited computer time. I really hope the next chapter doesn't take as long _; I feel really bad for taking so long to update. Thanks you to everyone who's sticking around and reading this!

P.S. Check out the poll on my profile!

**Next Chapter:** _Francis must make a decision (continued), Arthur goes through Hero Bootcamp and Lovino sneaks back home.  
_


	8. Chapter 8

**Mercy Rule**

**Summary:**Two rival football teams battle it out to get to the Nationals. But what happens when opposing players become star-crossed lovers? Mainly Spamano, USUSK, GerIta with side pairings.

**Rating:**T

**Pairing(s):**SpaMano, USUK, GerIta, PruCan, hints of FrancexEveryone

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Hetalia.

**Note(s):** This chapter takes place on Wednesday, the same day Chapter 6/7 took place.

* * *

It was a little known fact the Francis Bonnefoy was a romantic.

No, he wasn't a womanizer, nor was he 'easy' or 'loose', and he most definitely was still a virgin. That's right, Francis Bonnefoy - Prince of L'Amour, the very embodiment of cupid himself - was a virgin. He didn't bother lying about it, either.

Unfortunately, most had just assumed that he had lost his virginity once he started making suggestive comments. Sure, he could be promiscuous but he was a teenage boy; it was to be expected. But never had he given in to lust-filled desires for it was against all he stood for. Francis stood for love, true love, and what kind of hypocrite would he be if he had given himself to anyone less that his ultimate soul-mate?

He shook his head, he had gotten off track again. The point was, the Frenchman was a romantic and no matter how much he wanted to deny the longing glances and the startling chemistry between a dear friend and a dear enemy, he couldn't. Of course, that didn't mean he had to approve of it.

Currently, Francis was seated on the thick trunk of a tree leaning towards Antonio's window. He rested his feet against the trunk, holding himself up, and leaned back to lie down against smooth bark. His cerulean eyes wandered the midnight sky as he thought to himself; trying to decide what his next move should be. He had already called Gilbert in his state of shock but there was still no response. He briefly wondered if the albino would even be interested in their Spanish friend's love life. He didn't seem to be terribly bothered by the Italian's intrusion nor the sudden protectiveness Antonio had displayed.

Francis sighed. This was getting complicated.

On one hand, he wanted Antonio to be happy. Of course he wanted him to be happy, he was his best friend. He wanted the Spaniard to discover that warm fluttery feeling that had the ability to defeat any raincloud and every bad hair day. He wanted him to smile as bright as possible and feel complete when he joined hands with that one special person that made his world. He wanted Antonio to find love and to be in love. He wanted his cheeks to fill with red when he thought of that one person and he wanted his friend to wake him up at four in the morning just to ramble on about how nervous he was about his first kiss.

The Frenchman almost smiled, content with the idea of a happy ending for his dear Antonio. However, the darker side of the situation soon caught up with him and the warmth faded; replaced with furrowed eyebrows and a prominent frown.

On the other hand, he couldn't let that person be Lovino. It wouldn't work, it couldn't work. Lovino was not only from the opposing team, but from a different high school. Sure, he could argue and say that love knows no bounds, but Antonio needed affection and love every day. His love was highly dependent on touch and feel as opposed to the coldness of words typed onto a screen or nothing but a familiar voice chatting into a phone. Not to mention the mouth that Italian had on him - Francis scowled. His personality didn't match Antonio's at all. Opposites didn't always attract.

However, no matter what he said, the boy did seem to make Antonio happy. The Frenchman thought back to earlier that night, when he had been peeking through the brunette's window in curiosity. He had noticed the bug screen sitting in the bush below and wondered what beautiful maiden the Spaniard may have seduced into his room. Of course, he wasn't exactly pleased when he saw a young Italian boy snuggling closely to his best friend. They seemed to have just fallen asleep together, but he still took note of their fingers intertwined and the shameless smile Lovino had sported in his slumber.

Francis sat up and brushed the dirt out of his hair. He brushed himself off before hopping off the trunk and landing gracefully on the soft grass below. His mind was still on the Spaniard as he tip-toed to the front door and quietly opened it. He slid through the door and shut it with caution, trying his best not to make a sound. He was used to sneaking out, but it never got easier the more he did it. It was almost a game when he had to sneak back in; a matter of life or death as his speeding heart told him. The blond held his breath as he successfully leaped over to the staircase and climbed every step.

Once he reached the top, his breathing was restored and he casually walked over to his room. However, he couldn't help but peek into Antonio's room as he passed it. He glared at the crack of moonlight shining down on the couple, though felt the hint of a smile tug on his lips. He noticed the way Antonio had been holding the Italian boy from the start; almost like he was protecting him. Nostalgia passed as soon as it came to him - the crying face of an English boy in the back of his mind.

"It wasn't an accident," he quietly reminded himself. His near-hatred for Lovino returned instantly and he continued making his way to his bedroom.

* * *

Arthur wasn't expecting this.

Of course, he had predicted that the American idiot would be late, (and have some kind of ridiculous story to tell), and he had been correct in saying that Alfred F. Jones was nothing short of a complete dunce when it came to teaching any subject. However, what he hadn't seen coming was that the dirty blond had come prepared with an actual plan.

"Alright, that should do it," he said, setting down the last blinding-orange traffic cone. Alfred smiled and looked over his work.

In the middle of the Orbis Terrae field was something of an obstacle course complete with two rows of cones, a single row of eight burly rubber tires and a soccer ball sitting a few yards away. The American nodded and hopped before the Briton with a proud grin. He cleared his throat and frowned deeply, imitating his coach's default expression.

"Arthur Kirkland!" He projected to towards the boy. The blond blinked in surprise and stiffened instantly.

"What are you-?"

"Silence!" He ordered in a louder bark. Arthur held back a yelp and straightened his posture. Alfred nodded and took a deep breath before continuing.

"You are about to endure a heroic rite of passage. There's a 20% chance you'll make it through without error, but the other 80% involves nothing short of blood, sweat and enough tears to make Texas the new Seattle."

The Briton's interest level seemed to drop as he took on a more skeptical look. He seemed about ready to roll his eyes and Alfred was intent on keeping that from happening. He adjusted his glasses and glanced at his masterpiece sitting to the right.

"Arthur Kirkland, welcome to Hero Bootcamp."

* * *

Amber eyes fluttered open in a well-rested trance. They glanced around the room in immediate confusion, briefly lingering on the red-tinted curtains that adorned a sunny window and eventually settling on a familiar set of digits resting on a naked shoulder.

Snapshots of the night before flashed in the Italian's mind; a pair of forest-green eyes shimmering in the moonlight and a plump pair of lips lightly kissing down his jawline and into the crook of his neck. He smiled and let out an airy sigh, content with the moment of bliss that accompanied the extra body heat resting behind him. He could lie forever in the quiet of the morn without a care in the world to crease his brow and let himself bask in the rarity for a few moments longer. His meditation was interrupted, however, by a soft sigh and the rustling of sheets beside him. He didn't fight the smile that formed or the sudden lighting of the fireplace in his heart as he watched his bed-mate slowly wake from his slumber.

"Buongiorno," he greeted.

Antonio furrowed his eyebrows and squinted one eye open, looking as equally confused as the Italian had been. He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes before widening them. A smile broke out on his face and he held his hand up for Lovino to lace his fingers through. The boy complied and watched the Spaniard as he slowly regained his memories.

"Lovi~," he sang sweetly. His voice was a bit lost but happy nonetheless. His eyes lingered on Lovino's before traveling south. He smirked in satisfaction as he spotted a bruised-looking dark spot on the boy's collarbone; peeking from under his shirt in an almost teasing manner. He poked it without hesitation, catching the Italian's attention.

"You...," the brunette paused as he processed the situation. Melted amber lit up in a blaze and he pulled the shirt collar down to inspect the mark left on his skin. He gasped and glared at the grinning Spaniard.

"You idiot! How am I supposed to hide this?" He chided him. Antonio shrugged and hooked the collar with his finger to catch a glimpse at the work he had done. He tried his hardest to hide the smugness in his smile and mentally noted to brag to Gilbert about it later. After overcoming his automatic pride, he realized how noticeable it really was and frowned. Maybe that hadn't been the best idea.

"It's the summer and I'm going to have to change in the locker room and _merda_ if Romulus sees this he'll-"

"Lovi, wait! I know someone who can fix this!"

The Italian gave him his best 'how-dare-you-interrupt-my-nervous-breakdown' look he could and waited expectantly for elaboration. Antonio propped himself up on an elbow and tilted his head as he leaned closer to get a better look.

"A little make-up and it'll be fine! Liz'll know what to do," he said more to himself than the boy. Lovino jerked away from the Spaniard's grip and pulled his shirt collar up.

"She better," he grumbled. Antonio's smile returned and he waved a hand dismissively.

"Don't worry, Lovi! Elizabeta is the best make-up lady I know," he assured him. "She helps Francis out with this stuff all the time."

Any ounce of hope had been thrown out the window as soon as the name 'Elizabeta' had been mentioned; leaving the Italian with nothing but an aching stomach and the feeling of dread sinking his appetite.

"..Elivabeta? As in that-crazy-Hungarian-chick-that-has-cameras-in-the-boy's-locker-room-Elizabeta?" He gulped in fear as he thought back to every awkward camera lens that had stared blankly as he stripped off in desperate need of privacy. A shiver ran up his spine as his imagination kicked into overdrive and he thought of a devilishly smirking girl chuckling maniacally in a room full of nothing but screen after screen of football players being violated on tape.

Antonio nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, her. I didn't know you knew Liz, Lovi~!"

The Italian deadpanned and shook his head.

"No. No way in hell am I getting help from that pervert. Especially when she finds out that _you're_ the one who did _this_," he pointed to the obnoxiously blatant mark to emphasize his point. Antonio didn't seem to understand what the problem was.

"If you don't then you're going to have to explain why it's there," he answered. Lovino knew how right he was but refused anyway. He knew he was being difficult but blamed it on being around Arthur too much.

"I'll say I got it on with some girl," he replied simply. The Spaniard snorted and stifled his laughter. He knew it was rude and tried his best not to give in; blaming this behavior on being around Gilbert too much.

"You said your brother just outed you. It wouldn't make any sense."

The boy pouted and turned around, his back now facing Antonio. The older boy frowned and scratched his head. A part of him wished his love would be more reasonable but he liked the feeling of being challenged. He sighed and smiled, taking this opportunity to press his chest to the boy's back and wrap his arms around him.

"It'll be fine, Lovi. Just trust me," he whispered reassuringly. He felt a few arm twitches and heard a faint string of curses being muttered before the warmth of the other's hand rested on top of his own. His smile widened a bit more and he closed his eyes; indulging in the peaceful atmosphere for a moment more.

"I really should go now," he heard the boy mumble. He knew it was more of a reminder than a farewell and shrugged it off. He shook his head and voiced every excuse under the sun, explaining that Lovino's body fit too perfectly against his own and that the sun wasn't quite high enough in the sky for him to be rushed. The Italian laughed quietly as he listened, his lips turned up in a way that only fairy tales could really explain.

He decided to save the cliches and instead rested in the arms of the Spaniard - his heart not quite beating fast enough for him to possibly be in a rush.

* * *

Alfred proved to know what he was doing; Arthur was much too busy trying to avoid the piercing pain in his ankle to even consider rolling his eyes any time soon. Which, of course, meant that some progress was being made.

The Briton slowly but surely weaved his way through the second equally-spaced row of traffic cones, dribbling the ball just fast enough to pass any snails lingering by. He adjusted the position of his foot often, obeying every correction Alfred shouted to him. He had finally settled with a strangely-angled, though pain-less, position that allowed him to dribble fairly well when he reached the end of the row. His steps had gotten speedier though went without a single thought, which must have been why the last step he took resulted in him tumbling to the grass.

"Hyung!"

Alfred froze. He was almost sure that hadn't been his voice. His head whipped around in confusion. He instantly spotted a small Asian boy sprinting over to Arthur. He walked over to the Briton, assuming that he was fine judging by the slightly-annoyed expression on his face.

"What are you doing here, Yong Soo?"

The stranger ignored the question as he struggled against the blond, hastily explaining that he needed him to calm down so he could check for any damage. Arthur refused to be touched and shoved the boy away repeatedly, insisting that he was perfectly fine with every violent push.

"But Hyung, your foot twisted when you-"

"I'm telling you, I'm_ fine_," the blond said in a final tone. He ground his teeth in annoyance and tried not to glare at the Asian boy as he slowly backed off.

Alfred stared at the smallest of the boys and searched his memories for the face of the vaguely familiar stranger. He swore he had seen him somewhere before.

"Hey, do you know Kiku?" He blurted out.

The boy jumped slightly and turned his body to the American. He made a strange sound that indicated he had remember something and bowed slightly to him.

"Sorry, I didn't see you. Hello, I'm Im Yong Soo~!" He introduced himself with a sing-song voice.

"Alfred F. Jones," the American answered with a small bow, "Again, do you know Kiku?"

Yong Soo thought for a moment before nodding enthusiastically. Alfred smiled, ready to figure out just how he could possibly know this boy, but was rudely interrupted by the obnoxious clearing of someone's throat.

"It really is wonderful that you two have a mutual friend, but can we please re-focus? Thank you," Arthur cut in, irritated. Alfred rolled his eyes and held a hand out to the boy.

"I'm not made of glass, I can get up by myself," he nagged him, taking the hand despite his words.

Once the Briton was standing he brushed himself off. Alfred, feeling somewhat guilty for making the boy fall, joined in and glided his hand across the blond's back. Arthur slapped the American's hand away and turned to Yong Soo in an attempt to hide his growing blush.

"Why were you spying?" He asked bluntly. The Korean laughed nervously and fidgeted with a bracelet on his wrist. His head was tilted to the side; eyes searching the sky as if the answer was written in the clouds.

"Well, I was leaving but then I saw you waiting out here and I was going to ask you why but uh..," his eyes flickered over to Alfred, "Well, then he came and I was curious so I just stayed and watched."

Arthur crossed his arms and shifted all his weight to one hip. Alfred held back a smile as he noted the fairly feminine pose.

His eyes automatically traced down the heavy wrinkles in the over-sized shirt that hung loosely off the blond's shoulders. His slim figure was almost unnoticeable under the unflattering material, but still managed to hook the boy's attention as he stared blatantly at the boy. He watched how animated those normally fern-colored eyes would become with the furrow of his eyebrows.

Alfred blinked.

He hadn't ever noticed before, but Arthur had...quite the eyebrows. It was somehow charming in his mind and worked to express the more than mild irritation the boy often put into every death-glare. The American was so intrigued by that single facial feature that he hadn't noticed how close nor how red the object of his affections had gotten.

"And here I was gaining a new respect for you," he heard the blond mutter under his breath. He immediately snapped out of his stupor and broke into a blinding smile.

"Really, Artie? You mean it?" Had Alfred been born with a tail, it would be wagging strong.

Arthur rolled his eyes and gestured to the obstacle course.

"Are we finishing this or not?" He asked, changing the subject.

He could almost swear that the American's ears dropped at the change. He looked over at the rubber tires waiting for use just a few feet away and sighed.

"Maybe you should rest your ankle for a bit. You've been working it a lot today," he answered.

Arthur looked down to his foot and shrugged.

"It feels fine. Really," he offered. Alfred shook his head and plopped a hand down on the Briton's shoulder.

"No, it's fine. You really shouldn't push yourself too hard this early anyway."

The blond nodded in agreement. His eyes glanced over the cones to the right before landing on an awkwardly watching Yong Soo wringing his hands in uncertainty.

"Yong Soo," he called. The boy's head snapped up and he waited for further instruction.

"Keep your mouth shut," he ordered him. A single glare got the desired response from the boy and had him nodding his head fervently.

* * *

Feliciano shifted in his slumber, sighing peacefully.

His brows slightly furrowed at the loud banging of the window opening, but he somehow remained was a pregnant pause before muttered curse after curse reached his ears. He squinted in the dark over to the window, spotting a figure struggling to get through the window.

Immediately, he hopped out of bed - knocking over the house phone that was sitting beside his pillow in the process- and flung everything in a two-foot radius at the intruder. The figure stiffened and raised his arms in front of him to defend himself.

"Stop it, you idiot!"

The Italian yelped and grabbed the nearest blunt object: the house phone sitting on the floor. Fighting his immediate instinct to flee, he lunged forward onto the figure and repeatedly whacked him over the head.

"Oi! Feli, stop! It's me; Lovi!"

The brunette, eyes tightly shut and nearly screaming at this point, didn't register a thing that was happening. Frustrated at his brother's idiocy, Lovino grunted and shoved Feliciano off of him. He dropped down to his knees and started yanking the phone out of the boy's death-grip.

A wrestling match instantly ensued: legs kicking the other away and aggravated clenching accompanied the whitening of knuckles as they stubbornly refused to let go of the phone. Eventually, the younger Vargas had opened his eyes in the midst of crying a river and recognized his opponent. He released the phone and let his guard down, watching as Lovino fiercely pulled his arm back. The incredible speed in which he did this caused the phone to go flying behind him and clunk against the window screen.

The elder paused to catch his breath and glared at his brother.

"_Merda_, you're an idiot," he muttered between pants.

Feliciano nodded and hung his head in shame as he crawled back to his bed. Once seated over his covers, he watched his brother stand up with slight difficulty. He leaned against the wall for support then limped over to his bed, harshly muttering every few steps. The younger tilted his head and pondered what could have caused this.

"Fratello..?" He asked quietly.

Lovino grunted in response, welcoming elaboration.

"Where did you go, ve?"

The elder glared over at him and sighed. He seemed to be mentally arguing with himself before simply answering that he went to visit someone.

Feliciano scratched his head and stared down the boy, hoping that he'd explain more if he stared long enough. Of course, he knew his brother too well, and the Italian broke after a minute or two.

"Antonio. I went to see Antonio," he clarified.

His brother frowned and tried his best not to show the growing resentment tugging on his heart. He knew Lovino was watching as he adjusted his sitting position, deep in thought. His mind seemed to wander slightly as he remembered the Spaniard's predatory stare that had haunted his mind at the mention of his name. He knew how much he meant to his brother, but that didn't mean he had to let him go so easily.

The brunette sighed and laid down, staring up at the ceiling. He heard Lovino kick off his shoes and settle into his sheets; a few wincing sounds in the air every now and then as he tried to get comfortable.

Feliciano blinked then gasped, his eyes wide. His cheeks flushed and he turned to face his brother opposite him.

"..Lovi?" He asked cautiously.

The elder blinked blankly, waiting for a few seconds before asking 'what'?

"Did you..," he started as if the following words were obvious.

Lovino waited patiently for the rest of the question before questioning him with another 'what'?

"Y-You know, ve..," the younger insisted.

His brother rolled his eyes and half-glared at him, demanding that he explain himself.

"Well, you were limping and..and you went to see_ him_, and you were gone f-for a while, so.."

After a moment, the Italian had put the pieces together and went red.

"Wha-What the hell, Feli! No! I have morals, you know! I'm not going to throw myself at some guy I hardly know!"

He sputtered as he tried to lecture the younger, but failed as image after image of the hypothetical scenario flooded his mind. He went quiet and gripped the sheets, face more red than before.

Feliciano watched with slight interest, tuning his brother's senseless rambling out. His mind back to the stoic blond who had recently been occupying his every other thought. A light blush kissed his cheeks and he smiled lightly.

"What? Would you?"

The younger blinked and shook his head, not even flinching at the question.

"So then why would I?" His brother asked, his voice laced with something of hope of being understood.

"Ve, you don't think a lot, _fratello_~," was his blunt answer. "You just feel."

Lovino, his mouth ready to object any second, paused. He pressed his lips together and pulled his covers up higher, 'hmph'ing slightly.

"Yeah, well, you're not exactly a thinker either, Feli," he muttered back. He closed his eyes and turned away, back facing his brother.

Feliciano smiled and shook his head, brotherly affection surging through him.

"Whatever you say, Lovi," he whispered before closing his eyes.

* * *

So, this was it.

Francis hesitated as he stared at the dark cherry wood before him. His hand was growing moist with sweat as it waited impatiently to twist the knob, his mind was racing and crafting up his next words, and his heart was seizing in anticipation.

He took a deep breath and gently opened the door.

He peeked into the room and sighed in relief.

Antonio was lying haphazardly across the bed, his tanned tone painted a dark blue by the moonlight. He was clearly sleeping, a soft smile on his lips.

The Frenchman nodded and closed the door, backing out of the room and back into the hall.

They would talk in the morning, he decided.

* * *

**/AN:/** Didn't have a computer for three weeks, guys. The first part of this chapter (Francis' part) was actually typed the day the last chapter was posted. So this really just took me for-freaking-ever to finish. Also, there WILL be a sequel to this story, because it's actually starting to reach the end. There should be at least 5 chapters left before the big game.

_**Next**: Feliciano skips practice, Francis confronts Toni, and Yong Soo spies again._


	9. Chapter 9

**Mercy Rule**

**Summary:** Two rival football teams battle it out to get to the Nationals. But what happens when opposing players become star-crossed lovers? Mainly Spamano, USUSK, GerIta with side pairings.

**Rating: **T

**Pairing(s): **SpaMano, USUK, GerIta, PruCan, hints of FrancexEveryone

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia.

**Notes: **The decision made in the poll on my profile is included here. Also, as noted by Toni later, there are two weeks left before the big game.

* * *

Lovino cringed as he awoke, a searing pain striking the inside of his calf as he dared move an inch.

He had been stupid and reckless in sneaking in and out of Elizabeta's home. Antonio had kindly led him there - which was surprisingly closer than the Italian had assumed it would be- and even helped boost him into the second story of her home. However, the sun had started rising by the time she had finished covering his love-wound and he had begun to panic. Not even the Spaniard could have foreseen the sheer stupidity Lovino exhibited as he carelessly hopped out of the window, into a tree, then tumbled foot-first onto the ground.

He was beginning to realize that both Feliciano and Romulus probably would have been simple enough to believe it was a bruise and his teammates would only care for a good ten minutes before moving on with their day.

The Italian wiped his forehead and peeked out of the window. The days were beginning to get hotter as summer waned on, which meant that the big show-down couldn't have been too far away. He pulled off his covers and forced himself up and out of bed, stretching like a cat the instant his back left the mattress. He glanced over to the other side of the room to see Feliciano's bed lone and made, the house phone propped up on his bedside table.

"Who does he even have to call? It's not like he has any friends," the boy muttered. He trudged over to his closet and pulled off his shirt.

Eying his physical progress, he frowned in dissatisfaction. Sure, he had gained a few bits of definition here and there but his stomach remained as ultimately rebellious as Alfred's defiant hair. He huffed and grabbed a simple red shirt sporting his ancestor's country flag flowing in the nonexistent breeze. After pulling on cargo shorts and combing a hand through his tolerably unkempt hair, he made his way to the kitchen.

The smell of breakfast sausage filled the air and he was greeted with the sight of his brother picking at his meal. He wore an almost confused expression as he ate, nibbling on small pieces of a strangely dark pancake chopped up on his plate. Lovino watched curiously.

"Fratello?" He questioned. The boy met his eyes and gestured to the box of mix staring from the counter.

"Whole-wheat," he whispered. His obvious objection to the food was apparent in his tone; not an ounce of miserable morning shadowed by his blatant distaste on the subject. Lovino sympathized with him.

"It's not the same," he agreed.

Opting for a bowl of apple-cinnamon oatmeal, due to Romulus ridding the house of sugar-coated cereals, the elder Vargas took a seat a seat away from his brother. The air between them was much less tense than before, their normal routine finally as balanced as before. There was a nervous twitch of Feliciano's eyes, however, as he ate sluggishly. He seemed almost antsy as he watched his brother eat and took care to take as long as possible.

"Hurry up, we've got to get to practice," Lovino scolded him. The younger nodded and dumped out the remains of his food into the garbage.

"I haven't showered or anything yet so I'll just meet you there,ve~" he offered. His voice was trembling yet firm in it's pseudo-reassuring tone, going over his brother's head as he nodded in understanding.

"Yeah, yeah, just don't be too late. Nonno will have my head," he responded simply. Feliciano rushed out of the kitchen, leaving Lovino to roll his eyes at his brother's strangeness.

"Weirdo," he dismissed it.

* * *

Feliciano didn't stop fretting in his paranoia until he had heard silence ringing through-out his household. He hadn't ever done this before and was fairly worried about the consequences.

"I'll tell them I got lost, ve, " he thought aloud. "That's not too far-fetched."

Dressed in a black shirt - of which he had forgotten he ever owned - and baggy green cargo shorts, the Italian looked nothing like his average self. This was good, he reflected, as it would be harder for him to be caught.

"Or maybe I'll limp around and say I sprained my ankle on the way there," he pondered. His mind drifted back to Lovino, who had a mysterious limp that went largely unexplained.

He wasn't sure he wanted to hear an explanation in all honesty. He didn't want to know what the boy had done in his time away with their rival and he most definitely could go the rest of his life without knowing if the Spaniard was good in bed or not.

Felicano shuddered.

"It's only fair that I get time alone with _my_ love interest," he decided. With his flawless logic in mind, the Italian walked out his back door and set off towards the neighborhood park.

* * *

The sun never looked quite as dim as it did this morning.

Anxiety piled in the Frenchman's stomach, weighing down on his morning with a vengeance. He figured he should just get it over with, the Spaniard was sure to be awake by now.

"And I'll have to wake him if he's not," he stated warily.

He wasn't sure what he was going to say. What was there to say when it came to a confrontation? Sure, he could be rude about it and lecture the boy on how he was making a terrible decision that was reckless and stupid and completely irrational.

But that was love, wasn't it?

Francis shook his head. He couldn't get wrapped up in his thoughts again. It was now or never.

With a deep breath, he walked over to Antonio's room. The door was cracked open - Francis wasn't sure if he was relieved or even more distilled with nervousness - and beckoning to him. He didn't pause to calm himself or give a pep talk, but simply walked right in.

He was awake.

"Antonio," the Frenchman started lamely, "We need to talk."

Said boy, who was lounging on his bed and staring blankly at the Spanish flag on his wall, turned to face his friend. His default smile spread across his lips and he nodded, scooting over a bit as if inviting Francis to take a seat. The blond did so without hesitation, sitting across from the Spaniard with locked eyes.

"Tell me you were alone last night," he ordered boldly. Antonio's smile dropped a bit, a flame of defiance dancing in his eyes.

"Ah, but I would never lie to you, my friend," he offered in return.

Ignoring the stab of anger spreading in his chest, the Frenchman tried again.

"Tell me there wasn't a Vargas in this house last night," he insisted. The Spaniard paused a bit before shaking his head.

"It was closer to the morning than the night," he argued, "But I would still be lying if I told you that."

Francis frowned in disappointment - a part of him still clinging to the idea that it had been someone else; someone who _wasn't_ Lovino - and sighed deeply.

"You know better than to take your team's rival into your private living space," he scolded him.

This only fueled the burning rebellion in the forest of green, adding a hint of annoyance into the mix.

"You bring people home all the time, Francis," he pointed out.

"My career isn't going to be at stake when it comes to the people I bring home," Francis countered lowly.

Antonio rolled his eyes and narrowed his eyes ever-so slightly.

"He's more than an opponent. He's a _person_," he answered.

"A person that could easily screw you over in the tournament."

The Spaniard sighed frustratedly, clenching one of his now-fisted hands. Francis watched him carefully, aware of the irritation he was causing. He wanted a fight, not a discussion. He wanted to air the tension out instead of having to avoid his friend, and the only way two stubborn men could compromise would be to use all the building passion inside them.

"He could be using you for all you know," the Frenchman went on. He almost cheered at the darkening of the Spaniard's eyes.

"He's not using me," he stated simply. "He wouldn't do that."

Francis scoffed and crossed his arms, an argument already forming in his head.

"Just like he wouldn't permanently cripple a rival teammate?" That had easily struck a nerve.

Antonio closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath - whether to calm himself or to express disappointment was unknown to Francis - before directing a hard stare at the Frenchman. He didn't speak, but the emotion was evident in his somewhat-pleading/somewhat-challenging eyes.

"He's not good for you," he continued; unaffected. Their vision was locked with one another's eyes, neither of them daring to so much as blink.

"He makes me happy," the Spaniard answered. His voice was sure and contained, unwavering in the stare-down between he and his stubborn friend.

Francis narrowed his eyes, clearly unshaken by the intensity.

"You shouldn't be so reckless-"

"As if I can control it," the boy interrupted.

The Frenchman broke the staring match by turning his head away. He sighed and shook his head, a war-zone battling fiercely in the back of his head.

"Coach won't like this."

Antonio froze, a dangerous glint in his eye. Before the blond could even blink, he was pinned down harshly against the wall. He grunted in surprise, his eyes widening at the sudden seriousness of the situation.

"Coach doesn't need to know," the Spaniard warned, his voice low with a crisp accent laced between his words.

Francis didn't budge.

"No promises," he spat back.

He felt the grip on his shirt tighten for a few seconds before being released completely. He simply adjusted his shirt as if he hadn't just seen his life flash before his eyes, not noticing the Spaniard watching patiently.

"Francis, don't," he sighed. "We don't need the team breaking up when we're just two weeks away."

The Frenchman met his eyes - noting the distinct brightness of green mixed with only a smudge of darkness - and decided it was safe to answer.

"Give me three damn good reasons not to," he compromised.

Antonio groaned and leaned his back against the wall; drained from the rush of emotions he had experienced a mere minute ago.

"You should be happy for me," he offered. "I'm in love. You know how wonderful that is."

Francis crossed his arms and stuck one finger out from his tightened fist.

"And you know, he really isn't that bad. He just doesn't know how to talk to people," he continued.

The Frenchman shook his head and peeped out a 'try again.'

"His brother's really cute."

Francis added another finger.

"And..and in that one match we played, _he_ was the one that choked. I didn't even flinch when we faced off," was the final plead.

The blond considered the statement. It was true, the Spaniard held no mercy when it came to the field. Stubbornly, Francis held up one more finger. He held his hand up to Antonio's face.

"Three. But I need to double-check the second one. You've proven to have bad taste in men," he teased. The brunette broke out in a grin, not even bothering to hold back the hug he unleashed on his French friend.

"Gracias, Francis._ Muchas_ gracias," he whispered thankfully.

The Frenchman couldn't help but smile slightly and, despite the lingering resentment he held for a certain Italian, hugged the boy back.

"He better be worth all this trouble," he grumbled.

"He is," Antonio answered confidently, "I promise."

* * *

After two hours of non-stop training, the Tomato Stompers finally were allowed a break.

Lovino trudged to the locker room with raw irritation swirling up from his stomach and creeping into his throat. Feliciano hadn't shown up for the whole of practice and had yet to call back after the thirteen phone calls his brother had made.

"Where the hell is he?" The elder Vargas growled. His skin was crawling with nervousness and anger at the thought of his brother's absence.

Never before had he missed a practice session. He knew the way to the field by heart, even proving that he could walk there and back in his sleep without any assistance. Which meant that he had either hurt himself on the way there, gotten extremely distracted, or just plain ditched.

"He better have a broken leg," the brunette muttered angrily. "Or else I'll just have to break it for him."

He grabbed a water bottle from the cooler and gulped half of it down, eyebrows furrowed as he leaned against the cool metal lockers. Arthur waited for him to finish before inquiring about his brother.

"Any word from-"

"No."

"Well could you check your-"

"No."

"Well where could he-"

"I don't know."

The Briton sighed in disappointment and looked to the floor in thought. He had gotten the hang of jogging during practice and was surprised at how little his ankle had hurt afterwards. He could probably get some more running in after the break and still not be too sore.

"He's still not here?" Lars questioned hesitantly.

The team knew of Lovino's hair-trigger temper and danced around it with caution. The Italian gave him a look that clearly read 'look around then tell me if he's here, idiot.'

"It's not like Feli to not show up," Yong Soo reflected aloud, "He's really dedicated."

"Not dedicated enough, apparently," Lovino said bitterly.

He made his way out of the locker room and back onto the field with the boys of the team following hesitantly behind. Elizabeta was waiting quietly on the bench, head turning every now and then as if expecting something to happen any time soon.

"He's not gonna show up," the elder Vargas said bluntly. She paid no attention to him, opting to continue her fidgety glancing around.

"This is Feli we're talking about. This isn't like him at all," she explained. Lovino combed a hand through his hair and sighed deeply.

"I think I know my fratello," he argued, "And if he hasn't come by now then he's not going to bother coming at all."

The team was silent, each noting the distinct lack of energy that resonated with the presence of the younger Vargas. He was usually bouncing off the walls, even after the longest practices they've ever had. His absence left a hole in the team; a hole that left the group vulnerable and open for a strike.

"Arthur, warm up. You're practicing," their coach called reluctantly.

The Briton blinked in surprise before rushing back to the locker room without a word, an excited grin spreading on his face. Lovino shook his head in annoyance before going over to his grandfather.

"Why is Kirkland in? He can't run," the boy complained. Romulus held up a hand to silence the boy.

"Feliciano didn't show up," he stated obviously, "We need someone to fill in for him."

Lovino scoffed and crossed his arms; attitude evident with his every action.

"It's not permanent, Lovi," he assured the boy, "Calm down."

The Italian uncrossed his arms and pulled out his phone, dialing his brother's number in a last desperate attempt to contact him. He whispered a pleading mantra of 'answer the phone, answer the phone' as he waited for the ringing tone to be cut off by a cheery voice. When it wasn't, he groaned in frustration. After the automatic beep, he breathed out a message through grinding teeth.

"Feli, you're dead."

* * *

After one more hour of practice, Arthur had proven to be improving. He had jogged lightly across the field, only a few feet behind the action at all times, and even successfully dribbled the ball once or twice without injury.

"You did really well today, hyung," Yong Soo complimented him. The Briton thanked him as he stared at the ceiling to catch his breath; exhausted.

Lovino had left the second practice was announced over - probably on a search and destroy mission for his brother - along with Elizabeta and Romulus. Lars had disappeared a while after as per usual, waving to his remaining team-mates as he hopped into his sister's mini-van.

"The training you're getting must be helping," he said optimistically. Arthur hesitated, remembering back to the day when he found Yong Soo watching him and Alfred train, before answering.

"Yeah, it is," he agreed. His thoughts lingered on the American boy and his shouts of support, cheering him on as he had made it through half of 'Hero Bootcamp'. He smiled to himself, a sense of pride painting his cheeks a light pink.

Yong Soo smiled as soon as he spotted the blush, a knowing look in his eyes.

"How is that going?"

Arthur pulled himself out of his thoughts in a trance- the pink dusting his cheeks must had fogged up his mind, Yong Soo decided - and shrugged.

"Pretty good, I guess," he answered lamely. The Korean let his smile grow a inch wider.

"No, not the training," he clarified.

The blond stared at him in a confusion for a minute, not clearly understanding until Yong Soo made a suggestive gesture to him. He then sputtered in embarrassment and loudly denied any claims made about his relationship with Alfred.

"I'm kidding!" He assured the Briton in between fits of laughter. Arthur huffed and gathered his belongings.

"It's already sun-down," he explained before waving goodbye to the Korean. The brunette waved back, adding a 'see you tomorrow, da-ze~!', then followed his example and collected his own duffle bag.

Not bothering to change out, Yong Soo danced out of the locker room with content happiness. He had chosen to take the longer way home, allowing himself to get lost in the orange-tinted scenery he passed along the way.

The sun took it's sweet time setting, supplying the boy with more time to gaze in wonder at the smallest details; like how the petals of roses folded so beautifully and how the texture of clouds reflected almost perfectly in the duck-infested pond located in the local park. He took a detour around the park: first running over to the jungle gym to climb up on the monkey bars then swinging so high that he was sure he could taste the sky's rainbow sherbet.

Still bound with energy, but calming down considerably, he hung out on the swing for a bit. The plastic seat flowed left and right, front and back as he rocked in different directions with his feet. His hands gripped the rusty chains as his eyes wandered around the park. He spotted a young couple walking down the sidewalk, hands intertwined as they strolled.

"So sweet, da-ze~," he commented to himself. He tried his best not to stare, but there was something about the smaller one that caught his eye.

"Now that I notice, he looks kind of like.."

His eyes widened and he stopped swinging, frozen in shock. His heart began to pick up speed and he slowly got up off of the swing, creeping over to the jungle gym as quietly as possible. He climbed up into the pit of the structure and peeked out of the bars.

There was no mistaking the auburn locks or gravity-defying curl on the boy before him. Yong Soo pulled out his phone and automatically went to Lovino's name. He paused.

_'No, don't start anything. If he doesn't know by tomorrow, then you can tell him,'_ he reasoned with himself.

With a final nod, the Korean quietly put his phone back and waited for the couple to walk out of sight before bolting home.

* * *

**/AN/:** I like to think Yong Soo would be that kid that's always in the wrong place at the wrong time. He's really fun to right for, though. Sorry this chapter isn't longer, but the next one will be riddled with conflict. Also, there will be a sequel to this, centering around two minor pairings.

**Next: **_Feliciano supplies a turn in the plot and USUK gets some bonding time._


	10. Chapter 10

**Mercy Rule**

**Summary:** Two rival football teams battle it out to get to the Nationals. But what happens when opposing players become star-crossed lovers? Mainly Spamano, USUSK, GerIta with side pairings.

**Rating: **T

**Pairing(s): **SpaMano, USUK, GerIta, PruCan, hints of FrancexEveryone

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia.

**Notes:** None.

* * *

There wasn't a second that passed that didn't cause the younger Vargas' heart to seize in fear.

The sun had set, the streetlights were lit, and he was only a block away from his house. He had taken to walking ridiculously slow, the way he had when trying to waste time in the halls or was just too terrified to face the inevitable reality of his brother's fist in his face. His legs were shaky and his fingers were jittery as he ascended down the sidewalk. Glancing up at the house, Feliciano caught sight of a shadow lurking in the window of his room.

And with it was a wave of anxiety washing over him.

He hesitated as he neared it, nearly at a complete stop by the time he passed the mailbox. His mind screamed to run the other direction and never look back, but he knew that it would only further irritate Lovino.

Outside the window, he halted.

He swallowed thickly, fighting his instant desire to bawl his eyes out. With a deep breath, he slid open the window and climbed through.

The first thing he noticed was how strangely calm the atmosphere was. There didn't seem to be anyone waiting for him. After a quick minute of assessment, he recognized the new level of tension break through the air.

There wasn't anyone home.

He turned around to the window and peeked out to the drive-way: empty. He quickly tugged the closet door open, eyes frantic as they searched the area. The room was exactly as he had left it.

The brunette walked out of the room, scanning through the halls and popping his head into every room he could find. Desperately, he had even searched through every closet and bathroom, wondering to himself whether they had just gone out for a moment or if something had happened while he was gone.

Tears welled up in his eyes. He shook his head as he continued the search, chanting a simple 'no, no, no' under his breath as he rummaged through drawers and racks of clothing only to come up empty-handed.

First came a soft whimper of disbelief, followed by a sudden wailing. His breathing became labored as he choked on his sobs, slumping against a wall as he let out a shriek of misery. In his mind played a reel of the last moment he had seen his brother: a scene coated in betrayal and dishonesty. The guilt ate up his tears, egging him on as his screeching became more constant with the sharp slap of emotions written on his face.

He whimpered loudly as he perched before the front door, hopes oozing down from their places in the sky. He tried to calm his breathing, but as soon as he started, the feeling of guilt would hammer itself into his head. He would then shake his head, kicking and punching at the air in frustration. He didn't know what to do; what to say to the silence of the house.

So, he pulled out his phone with every intention to do what he did best: cry to Ludwig. However, he paused in his actions once he noticed an alert decorating his screen.

He hit the call button without thinking, listening as the automated woman assured that he 'had one unheard message, first unheard message...'

"Feli, you're dead."

In that moment, his heart both sped up and clenched in his chest. He stared at the ground as he tried to get his thoughts together. The only problem being that he honestly didn't think he was processing anything at the moment.

He didn't hear the woman's insistent orders of what numbers to press, nor did he even see the table that stood in front of him. He didn't notice that his knees began to shake, he didn't feel the pathetic whimpers that slid out between his lips, he didn't register the background noises of cars zipping down the road or the faint barking of a neighbor's dog.

But most of all, he didn't notice the cracking open of the front door or the loud groan that came with it. He barely even noticed the clamor of shoes being kicked off or the mumblings of the two entering the house.

He did, however, notice the sudden tackle-hug that knocked him straight to the ground.

"Feli~! Oh, Feli! You're alive~!"

At the sound of his grandfather's voice, the young Italian threw out his arms and clung onto the man. He buried his head in a broad shoulder and let the tears escape his eyes. In return, he was also being held onto with a very firm - and otherwise terrifying- death-grip.

"Nonno! Oh, Nonno, I thought it was your time! I-I thought.."

The boy's tears grew louder as his attempt to stay calm flew directly out the window. He was just as loud as before, screaming in both desperation and pure joy as the reality of it all struck him down.

Lovino watched patiently for the idiots' blubbering to cease.

At first, he tapped his foot to the beat of his slowly-growing irritation. As the tempo picked up, his eyebrows went down: narrowed and in full glare-mode after the first five minutes. He rolled his eyes as he listened to their sloppy confessions, trading stories about how one 'thought pieces of the sky would start raining down' and how the other 'looked in every room, in every drawer and every closet but still couldn't find anyone.'

He was still fairly upset with his brother, after all. This was no time for celebration.

"So, where were you, Feli?" He budded into the conversation.

Romulus looked eagerly to his grandson, a finger brushing over his cheek as he waited for the answer.

"I-I...got a phone call from a friend. They_ really_ needed me," he replied in psuedo-sadness. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it to practice."

Their grandfather- ever the gullible type - doted over Feliciano, smiling and noting how 'brave and courageous' it was of him to help out a friend. The boy nodded, acting nonchalant about the situation.

Lovino wasn't convinced.

"So..at what point during this situation did you get attacked by a vampire?" He asked sarcastically.

Romulus gave him a quizzical glance, wondering just where he was going with a remark like that. Feliciano offered an equally confused frown; complete with a raised eyebrow and clueless eyes.

"Uh..I didn't-"

"Oh, well, you must've gotten that mark somehow, right?"

He had walked straight into that hook, line and sinker. His jaw dropped; cheeks lit up in an instant with his right hand subconsciously flying up to cover his neck. His eyes went wide as they pooled with both embarrassment and fury.

Romulus gently pulled his hand off of his neck, gasping as the barely-there mark became noticeable. He hummed and let go of his hand, a prominent frown on his lips.

"Feliciano...," he warned, "Did you really have an emergency to take care of?"

His honey eyes darted around the room in a panic, struggling to piece together enough honesty to respond. He bit his lip before shaking his head.

"Feli!" The man scolded immediately. "You know better than to skip practice when we're so close to the finals!"

The younger Vargas - known for being rather unstable when under pressure - whined before pointing a finger to his brother.

"Well Lovi snuck out to see Toni!"

The room fell silent, save for the quickly boiling rage that burned in the elder's eyes. He shook his head, denying the claim the second it came out, and pointed back at his brother.

"He stayed up all night on the phone!"

Romulus stood up and held up a hand, ordering them to stop the childish game.

"Well at least I didn't sleep with someone from the other team!"

Pause.

The entire room seemed to freeze. The sound of a storm brewing outside the door should have shaken the room, along with the few flashes of lightning that lit up the streets.

Lovino was the first to move.

He lunged forward, going for the collar of his brother's shirt and shaking it aggressively. Feliciano submitted at first, allowing himself to be thrown around for a second or two before shoving the boy away. The first shove had set off an attack-mode in the elder's head; supplying him with the immediate instinct to tackle and smack his brother with all his might.

Surprisingly, he wasn't the only one going all-out. The younger boy even went so far as to punch his brother as he flailed about in self-defense: shoving and pushing, kicking and slamming.

Romulus took a moment to absorb the moment. Never in his life had he seen such a rush of adrenaline, nor had he witnessed his hopes die so instantly with something as simple as a shove. He sighed and grabbed the back of Lovino's shirt.

"Lovi, _stop_," he said tiredly.

The boy didn't pay him an ounce of attention as he continued slamming his brother's body against the floor with his fists.

"Lovi, really! Stop!"

Feliciano kicked him away, aiming for the chest and the shoulders as he twisted the boy's arm to keep his fists away from him.

"Feli, no! Don't _do_ that!"

The elder cried out in a mix of anger and pain, fighting the tears in his eyes as he jerked his arm away. He recoiled as he got his arm back, cringing as the younger managed to knock him over and gain the upper-hand.

"Boys, that's _enough_!"

Romulus took hold of Feliciano - pulling him back from under his arms and holding him out of Lovino's reach. The boy flailed in protest, yelling nonsense as he attempted to escape the man's hold on him. He knew it was useless, but the raw adrenaline that kept his fighting spirit running pushed him to try anyway.

Lovino slid himself over to the wall and watched as he caught his breath. He roughly wiped away the tears and examined his body for the damage that had been dealt. He held his arm protectively, paranoid that it might fall out of it's socket if he dared to let go.

"Feliciano, go to your room," Romulus ordered once he managed to calm the boy down. "You need to rest."

The boy sniffed and nodded, throwing a glance at his brother before making his way down the hall and to his shared room.

Romulus waited for the sound of a door clicking shut before taking a seat beside his grandson.

He didn't speak or so much as glance at the boy, waiting for him to start the conversation instead.

"You'd like him, Nonno," he spoke up in a whisper, "You really would."

The man sighed and shook his head, a somewhat-forced smile on his lips.

"I'm sure I would, Lovi," he answered honestly. "Anyone that could put up with you should be likable."

The boy shrugged and stared down at the floor. He thought of his grandfather's own interests, trying to tie a link between him and Antonio. He recalled the man once starting his own tomato garden, complete with rows upon rows of the home-grown fruit sitting in the back of his yard. He could have smiled; the memory of going out to the tomato field when he was upset or bored warming his heart.

"He loves tomatoes," he mumbled lovingly. Romulus shook his head, probably thinking back to the same field that held so many of his younger years.

"Lovino, you know I'm wary about this," he stated obviously. The younger nodded knowingly, if not a bid sadly.

"And you know I'm going to interrogate him the second I meet him," he continued.

Lovino nodded once more.

"And I don't believe for a second that someone like you would throw away your virginity so quickly," Romulus admitted. "Though I could be wrong."

The boy resisted the urge to glare, opting to scoff instead. The man smiled and nodded, ruffling his grandson's hair as if to say 'I knew it.'

"So, I have only one thing left to ask of you," he wrapped it up. Lovino sighed and leaned into his touch, resting his head on the man's shoulder with a frown on his lips.

"Nonno, it's not as easy as you think," he pleaded. The man let out a breath and looked down to the boy, eyes begging him to go along with it. The younger groaned before getting up, mumbling about the man 'owing him one.'

"Io ti do tanto amore, Lovino. _Tanto_ amore."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered in response. "Just don't be surprised when it's something stupid that's bothering him."

* * *

Feliciano stared longingly at the window.

He wondered what things would have been like if he hadn't even come home. Sure, the problem wouldn't have been solved, but at least he wouldn't have fought with his brother.

He frowned. He never liked fighting.

If anything, he wished that he hadn't let his emotions get the better of him and tell him that a few punches here and there couldn't possibly hurt his big, strong brother. If anything, Lovino was the stronger of the two and could have easily snapped the boy in half.

But he didn't. In fact, he had gotten a good share of the blows dealt in their fight; taking the hits left and right while he himself had only begun to lose his self-control when he received a punch to the lip.

He wondered why his brother would go to such trouble. It wasn't like he hadn't hit the younger every now and then. But why did he hold back when it came to an actual fight?

"Nonno's pretty out of it," he heard the boy greet him. "He let me off the hook for now."

The younger brunette shrugged. He wasn't sure whether talking was allowed, nor could he determine the tone of voice Lovino was using. He sounded worn down and drained; a mere shell of his usually high-strung self that surely would have been lecturing him by now.

He plopped down on his bed: exhausted.

"I'm not sorry," Feliciano confessed. His brother shrugged and made a sound of agreement.

"Yeah, I'm not either," he confirmed.

The two fell into a comfortable silence, both tired from the stress that engulfed them earlier that day.

Lovino fell onto his back, curling up in the blankets that decorated his bed and yawning as he did so.

"We went looking for you for over an hour," he mumbled sleepily, "That's why he was so freaked out."

The younger nodded, peeking at the other's reflection in the window.

"You kinda freaked too, though," he added as an afterthought.

Feliciano smiled sheepishly, realizing how silly it had been for him to jump to conclusions. He had been persuaded by the guilt that came with ditching, he supposed.

The elder boy shifted in his bed, letting his head sink into the pillow and letting his eyelids slowly droop down.

"I want you to meet someone, Lovi," the younger piped up after a moment.

The brunette grunted, mumbling incoherently.

"Lovi, I'm serious," he tried again.

The boy whined and opened his eyes ever-so slightly, peering up at his brother's back.

"I said 'whatever', " he repeated irritably.

Feliciano smiled to himself.

Their fight had let off the lasting tension between them, allowing the two to finally settle back into the equal balance of brotherhood. He watched his brother quietly doze off, noting that he looked rather sweet curled up in a blanket and finally quiet for once.

His eyes traced down the boy's face: stopping when he spotted the ghost of a scratch or the clearly visible cuts and bruises that tainted his skin. He didn't even think about what he himself may have looked like after the fight. He decided that he could wait until the morning to find out and stripped off his shirt and shorts.

He chuckled in the back of his mind. Sleeping nude was almost an inside-joke among the Vargas family. He was sure that other people did it and had no shame what-so-ever when his time to retire came. Lovino, however, was never one to agree. He had fallen asleep with clothing on and at the very least was always equipped with a nice pair of boxers to cover his nether regions.

The younger didn't do it all the time, however, only when he truly needed a good night's sleep. With the drained state he was in, he supposed it was a good reason to lay off the unnecessary baggage that would add a few degrees of body heat.

Feliciano had concluded that it was merely a comfort thing that he had somewhat inherited from his grandfather, but that didn't explain the stories he had heard from Romulus about his own father sleeping in the nude.

He smiled simply, lying down as quietly as possible.

He looked up to the ceiling with a new shine in his eyes. His mind trailed back to the time before the confrontation; when he had been genuinely happy and smiling. The face of the blond breezed through his thoughts, blowing everything else out his ears and into the mild climate of his bedroom.

His eyes fluttered closed as his mind went back to the afternoon and back to the warm, fluttery feeling that strung his stomach in a knot.

* * *

Alfred sighed.

So maybe allowing Arthur a day to rest hadn't been his best judgment.

According to his calendar, the days until the big match were numbered; and the number wasn't exactly a high one. It was barely managing its two-digit status as of this morning and was slowly washing away as time ticked on.

He marked off another day of the week with his trusty Superman pen, somewhat reluctant to look over the remaining time he had.

"Well, there's at least a week left," he commented. His finger traced over crossed out days, reveling in the memories of sweaty afternoons spent training and running in hopes of maybe - just _maybe_ - getting a little more recognition for his contribution to the team.

Without a doubt, Arthur had improved tremendously. The American often wondered why he hadn't tried to get back in the game if he loved it so much. Maybe it was his self-confidence or maybe the shadow he was trapped in.

Either way, that was sure to change.

With a lazy smile, Alfred turned back to face his bed and stretched out his arms. He had slept well and was ready to sock yet another day in the face with some heroic combos of justice.

On cue, he threw a fist into the air, successfully knocking down a lamp in the process. He frowned.

"I should work on that," he muttered lowly. He lightly scratched his back as he made a beeline for the bathroom. His reflection caught him off guard once the light was switched on, making him stare in surprise at the boy staring back at him.

He quietly closed the door behind him - eyes never leaving the mirror.

He took a moment to turn to get a better view of his profile, running a hand down his stomach as he self-consciously examined his own figure. He wasn't large, nor was he small. He was simply average with a bit of pounds that he could or could not do without.

He laughed to himself as his hands reached his waist, fondling the smooth curve of love-handles sitting on both ends of his belly. He lifted his shirt to see a humble pack of abs forming on his torso.

He smirked with confidence.

"If I can't get a girl by the end of the summer, then there is no hope for humanity," he bragged to himself.

He spent a moment more admiring himself before stripping off the shirt and sliding off his boxers. He started the shower up and ran a hand under the water to test it. Deciding that it was considerably warm enough to grace his body, he hopped into the shower and rinsed off.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and waited for his vision to re-adjust itself. He hadn't realized that his eyes had been naked until now; free from the constant movement of the glasses he donned.

His fingers ran through his hair in gentle circles, massaging the liquid into his scalp. He let out a content sigh; lifted corners of his mouth and all.

After stepping out of the shower, he securely wrapped a towel around his waist and made a beeline for his room. His steps were quick and paranoid, though amusing as he tripped over himself through the entrance to his bedroom. Hurriedly, he closed the door and rested against it - not even bothering to notice how how the cloth had fallen after all the commotion.

He smiled and dressed.

His adventures in the kitchen were short-lived as he noticed the sufficient lack of dairy in the household. He dug through the refrigerator - eyebrows raised in hope that he'd see that rectangular prism of milky goodness - but to no avail. The Williams-Jones family was simply out of milk.

Never one to furrow his brow, Alfred F. Jones sprung into action and out the door.

Then back inside after feeling the scorching hot cement under his delicate skin. He quickly slipped on his brother's Crocs shoes - or sandals or clogs, whatever they were they were he decided he didn't really care - and skidded out the door.

Once reaching the fresh air, his legs kicked into 'Super-Sonic' mode as he sped through across the sidewalk. He imagined rows upon rows of glimmering grass under his feet, crinkling lightly as it was trampled on. The sound of cheers were all around him, chanting and hollering his name as he ran. He crossed the field with a grin on his face, chasing after the ball that was just _so close_ to being his. He pushed himself further, his smile widening as he slowly but surely caught up to his target. He slid forward, hooking the ball with his foot and spun around in one fluid motion.

Then introduced the ground to his face as he was struck down.

The American groaned as he lifted his head up from the ground, rubbing his forehead in pain.

"I-I'm so sorry!" He heard someone stutter out. He sat up without difficulty, wincing as he moved his head up to look at the one who had knocked him down.

In that moment, he could have sworn an angel was in his presence. The sun gleamed over golden locks that rested lightly over a pair of army-green orbs filled with concern and embarrassment.

He smiled.

"'s okay, Artie," he chuckled with empathy. The way the boy was fretting over him was simply adorable to the American as he had waved off the bump on his head seconds after it came to him.

"You really shouldn't be running around so recklessly," the Briton said in his defense. Alfred shrugged and extended a hand, taking the blond's as he helped him up.

"Yeah, well, I'm just excited. The big game's coming up and all," he explained. His enthusiasm was evident in his voice and posture: tone jumping up and down like the bounce in his toes.

Arthur shrugged and continued walking, not surprised in the least as the American followed.

"So, what's in the bag, Eyebrows?" He asked casually. The boy glared back at him half-halfheartedly, switching the bag handle to the hand farthest away from the other.

"Aww, come on," he whined, "Just a peek!"

Arthur huffed and kept the boy an arm's distance away. The American struggled against him, playfully trying to get past the pretend force-field.

"I don't have cooties, I promise," he swore, right hand poised in the air. The Briton laughed at the silliness and shook his head, muttering about how pathetic the other's attempts to get past had been.

"You'd be a terrible spy," he uttered honestly. Alfred scoffed and crossed his arms; bag long forgotten in his race to protect his tarnished ego.

"I beg to differ," he argued, "And I don't see you going all James Bond on me, English-man."

The American held his chin up with pride, as if he had already been crowned winner of the argument. Arthur rolled his eyes, stopping in his tracks to press a pedestrian push button.

"It's always James Bond with you Americans," the blond observed, "Never someone more interesting or...real for that matter."

Alfred shrugged and began walking once the coast was clear. Arthur trailed closely behind, never further than two feet from the boy. The American took a moment to think over his options, 'hmm'ing as he stroked his chin.

"Would you rather I said Austin Powers?"

He would never be able to recreate the look of pure bewilderment on the Briton's face for the rest of his lifetime.

* * *

After walking a few blocks more - and getting smacked on the back of the head with the mysterious bag Arthur had been lugging around - Alfred had reached the Kirkland residence. Out of curiosity, he had asked his English friend just how to act in the presence of foreigners: Should he also talk in an accent? Should he call elevators 'lifts'? Should he spell color with a 'u' if ever the situation popped up?

He had gotten another whack to the noggin for asking such useless questions.

He honestly had expected the house to be something extravagant and European-looking; something modern yet antique in its weird foreign way.

To his surprise, the Briton had actually lived in a crammed apartment sitting above a home with a patio decorated with cheap lawn chairs and a plastic flamingo. He briefly wondered if you could even sun-bathe when on the bottom story of an apartment complex before climbing a set of stairs to the boy's home.

The inside was predictably tidy with the walls painted solid baby shades: baby blue, butter and lavender. The two had strolled past a room that he presumed to be Arthur's judging by the soccer ball that sat near the door as if recently used.

The home was small but cozy with its simple beige carpet and chocolate couch. Alfred wondered why there seemed to be life in the room if only he and Arthur were the ones in it.

"Only child?"

The Briton laughed loudly, setting his bag down on the kitchen counter.

"Oh, that's a good one," he muttered more-so to himself than his guest.

The American stared expectantly at him, waiting for elaboration.

"Two older twin brothers that won't shut up, another older brother that won't shut up and one little brother that refuses to shut up," he explained.

Alfred quirked an eyebrow in curiosity, suddenly thankful for his own quiet brother.

"And you survive..how..?" He teased.

Arthur widened the opening to the bag and pulled out a jar of brightly-colored jam; its fresh scent breezing through the air and kissing the nostrils of his American friend.

"I cook," he answered simply, "I cook a lot."

He spun the jar to face Alfred before going off to the other side of the kitchen. He glanced over at the timer before nodding his head once. He effortlessly opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of over-mitts to cover his lightly-colored hands. He put them on and nearly slammed the over door open, pulling out a sheet of metal that held an array of sweet-smelling pastries.

The dirty-blond turned his attention to the new aroma that filled his nose and smiled as soon as he saw the treats waiting to meet his mouth. He swayed over to Arthur and reached for a pastry only to be smacked on the hand by a spatula.

"Ow! Hey!"

"Wait for them to cool," the Briton instructed him.

Regretfully, he listened.

* * *

In ten minutes' time, the constant tick-tick-tick of the timer had gone off - screaming out the status of the fresh scones. Arthur - the blond who_ didn't_ dash over to the tray like a rabid maniac - popped off the lid of the jar of jam and brought it over to the tray.

"It tastes better with this," he offered subtly, nudging the other with the jar. Alfred took it gratefully and set it down beside him as he collected a serving for himself on a plate.

The Briton was slow with getting his own helping of scone, watching anxiously as the American spread a small portion of the jam onto the pastry before taking a generous bite.

His expression froze for a moment before he began to chew and swallow. He smiled - albeit much more forced than natural - and gave the boy a thumbs- up. Arthur nodded and smiled to himself, nibbling on his own scone. As he chewed he stared at it; confused.

"You really like it?" He asked the other skeptically. Alfred nodded enthusiastically.

"You're the first person to ever appreciate my cooking..," he admitted meekly. His smile was a bit flustered judging by the light blush that crept onto his cheeks, but there was not an ounce of doubt visible.

Alfred smiled back and took another scone into his hand, smothering it with more and more jam whenever possible.

* * *

Translation:

"Io ti do tanto amore, Lovino. _Tanto_ amore." - "I give you lots of love, Lovino. _Lots_ of love."

Guys. This is the longest chapter I have ever written for any story ever. No joke.

So, there is definitely going to be a sequel. I promise you that one. I'll probably take a break from Hetalia after this story finishes just so I can catch up on my other stories. Anyway, hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.

**_Next:_ **_The real grandfather-grandson chat takes place, Feliciano preps Ludwig for his upcoming meet with his brother and Francis has a chat with Gilbert._


	11. Chapter 11

**Mercy Rule**

**Summary:** Two rival football teams battle it out to get to the Nationals. But what happens when opposing players become star-crossed lovers? Mainly Spamano, USUSK, GerIta with side pairings.

**Rating: **T

**Pairing(s): **SpaMano, USUK, GerIta, PruCan, hints of FrancexEveryone

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia.

**Notes:** Un-beta'd. Fresh off the press.

* * *

The morning wasn't much of a Matthew-person.

When it came to sun-rise, it made a point to wake him up extra early and keep him up. He wasn't sure if it was merely due to his lack of caring for the first few hours he was awake or if the morning just loved torturing him.

Either way, he was wide awake at the wee hour of five in the morning and had no clue what to do. In a desperate attempt for entertainment, he had rummaged through his bookshelf for something that might catch his eye.

"I've already read them all," he grumbled to himself as he eyed every spine. His surprisingly large collection mainly consisted of fantasy, instructional or picture books with the exception of one that had been wrapped up in a big, green bow. He pulled it out and read the cover, smiling fondly as he remembered the history of the book.

"Forgot I even had this," he realized aloud. He walked over to his bed and stretched his legs out, letting the book rest on his stomach as he flipped it open.

On the first page was a plethora of signatures strewn across the page. There were some with loops and others in chicken-scratch, but they all held a particular fondness within them that exploded off the page and into the blond's heart. His smile softened as he traced down the page, searching for a certain someone's name.

"Even his signature is obnoxious," he mused as he came across a loud '_Gilbert Beilschmidt'_ hiding in the corner of the page. There was a scribble of a chick sitting beside the hastily-written note just under the German's name.

"See you on the field, let's win at Finals," he read to himself. His smile widened as he imagined the arrogant albino cheering on the field with joy-induced tears brimming in the corners of his eyes.

"Let's win at Finals," he repeated to himself.

* * *

There was a strange silence over the Vargas' household. It wasn't awkward, nor was it filled with tension, it was just silent. Eerily - suspiciously- silent.

As Lovino peeked his head out of his room, he couldn't help but feel like the protagonist of a horror movie. The corners of the hallways were left shadowed despite the massive amount of sunlight striking the walls. He crept slowly, unsure of what to expect. Feliciano had left about a half-hour ago, claiming to have gone out on a stroll to enjoy the weather.

Which only left Romulus to worry about. Lovino grimaced as he assessed the situation: he couldn't avoid his guardian's wrath for much longer. He knew that the talk last night had been an extremely watered-down version of the scolding he was bound to come across any second.

He had made it from his room to the kitchen without a single interruption and hurriedly grabbed a cup to fill up with water. He filled it halfway - in case it splashed around - before making a mad dash back to his room. He didn't bother looking casual; there wasn't any time left.

"Oh, Lovi~!"

He slammed into the wall in his fit of panic, somehow saving the cup from harm in the process. Without so much as checking if his head was still on his shoulders, he turned the corner and took a single stride into his room.

Sitting on his bed was the mocking smile only Romulus Vargas could ever pull off with such little effort.

"You look so shaken up, Lovi," he cooed, getting up from his spot, "You should take a seat."

The boy hesitated before taking a step towards the door. He proved to have screwed himself over as Romulus had somehow sneaked over to the door and had slid it closed with a final 'click.' Lovino set his cup down in defeat, plopping onto his bed with a mighty pout on his lips.

"Aw, Lovi, this isn't a bad talk," he reassured him. His voice was honest and caring, further upsetting Lovino. He crossed his arms and crossed his legs, deciding that comfort would be a necessity if he was going to speak at all. Romulus waited with a patient smile, gathering his thoughts.

"Go," the boy ordered after a moment. The man took a deep breath and crossed the room; pacing.

"I'm going to start by saying I'm not angry in any way whatsoever. Just..disappointed."

Lovino turned his attention to the pattern on his sheets. His eyebrows narrowed defensively but he didn't speak.

"I understand why you chose not to say anything, but Lovi," he stopped pacing and turned to the boy, "I should have known."

The younger Italian resisted the urge to shake his head in disagreement. His thoughts added quiet commentary to each sentence the other spoke, doubting the ease of acceptance the man expressed. Every muscle of his mind was flexing, insisting that it couldn't be this easy; there had to be a catch.

Romulus looked down at him, frowning at the sight of glossy eyes. He took another deep breath before sitting beside the boy and resting a hand on his shoulder.

"You're allowed to love anyone you want, Lovino," he said quietly, "There's no force in the world that could stop you - even good old Nonno."

He smiled gently at the boy, rubbing his shoulder. Lovino glanced over at him with the air of skepticism, unsure of whether to trust in his words or not.

"You're not mad about me freezing up?" He questioned carefully. Romulus blinked then pulled his hand back, scratching his head.

"_That's _Toni?" He asked loudly, eyes widening. He stared at Lovino with an amused glint in his eyes: the sure sign that he was trying desperately not to laugh. The Italian boy hardened his stare, forming it into a glare as chuckles leaked out of the man's lips.

"_El Tigre_?_,"_ he asked again in disbelief. Lovino pouted but nodded slightly, causing Romulus to erupt in a fit of laughter. Irritated, the boy stood up and made his way to the door, nearly slamming it open in frustration. The man looked up and followed after the stomping Vargas, trying to calm his laughter.

"Lovi, no! I'm not laughing at you! I just wasn't expecting that!"

"Save it," the boy yelled back, annoyed. Romulus whined and caught up to him, babbling on.

"No, really Lovi! He's very handsome and fit and-"

"Nonno, you're being weird."

The man frowned and gave the boy a helpless look.

"Lovi, I'm trying my best," he spoke softly, "I've talked about these things with you before."

Lovino paused. He sighed guiltily and looked behind him, judging the man's words by his desperate pout. He groaned and crossed his arms, matching the expression with his own Vargas pout.

"You haven't talked with Feli about this stuff, have you?" He asked childishly. Romulus looked off the to side, a pinch of nervousness showing in his frown.

"Well, he became interested in girls rather early on..," he explained sheepishly.

Lovino scowled and huffed. With how flamboyant the younger of the two was, it was amazing that he was the straighter one.

"Whatever," he concluded, uncrossing his arms and walking back into his room. Romulus followed like a lost puppy, unsure of where he stood. He watched as the boy plopped down on his bed with an exhausted frown and knocked lightly on the door.

"Lovi, just a few more things," he said softly. His eyes were pleading for a few ounces of attention, which he received with a half-glare/half-questioning glance.

"You're not allowed to see him until after the match," the man ticked off one finger.

"When you decide to bring him over, Feli and I are allowed to question him all we want," he continued before the younger could interrupt. A second finger was up in the air; Lovino waited patiently for the third before he would flip his lid.

"If I ever hear or see anything as suspicious as that mark on your neck, I'm allowed to chop this door down."

* * *

Ludwig was never one to complain.

He wasn't one to tremble and he wasn't one to chicken out on a confrontation.

However, there was a first time for everything and as he stared at a photo of Feliciano's older brother, he could have sworn the world flipped upside-down. If looks could kill, the German would have been twenty-thousand leagues under the soil beneath his boots, in the fiery pits of Hell being pricked by demon pitch-forks.

"Ve~, this is the only one I could find of him _not_ glaring."

In that moment, Ludwig kissed his pathetic smudge of existence goodbye. He felt his face pale and his courage went numb as it shook in raw fear.

"Ludwig~? You look kind of sick, ve," Feliciano noted, pressing a hand to the blond's forehead. With the simple brush of the Italian's palm, the German's body immediately heated like a furnace. His cheeks went pink and his confidence thawed considerably. Ludwig cleared his throat and gently moved the hand off of his forehead.

"I'm fine, Feliciano," he assured the boy.

"Oh, well that's good!" He nearly sang, tucking the photo back into his pocket. Ludwig let out a sigh of relief before relaxing visibly.

He let his eyes rest on the Italian seated beside him. He had called the German up in something of a panic, explaining that he needed to see him as soon as possible. Once they had met, the Vargas had recapped the night before, insisting that Ludwig needed some preparation before meeting his beloved big brother.

Now, however, the blond wasn't quite sure if he wanted to meet him at all. If a photograph could capture the unadulterated rage that brewed inside the boy, he wasn't quite sure what he would be like in real life. He had heard stories about Lovino from Francis - who despised the boy so much that he almost seemed in love with Arthur when defending him - and didn't know whether to believe his version or Feliciano's.

The Italian had insisted that it was either a complete accident or the result of aggressive competitiveness that had possessed his brother to act so mercilessly. Ludwig had opted for a mix of the latter and Francis' explanation.

Then again, this was _Feliciano's_ brother. He couldn't possibly be that bad if he had forgiven his brother the past night and had been open to meeting Feliciano's love interest. Not to mention the fact that_ Antonio_ of all people seemed to see him as a good person.

"Ve~ We should roleplay now," the Italian suggested, pulling out a small comb from his pocket. He brushed his bangs to the side of his face and brushed out a single strand where his hair parted.

"I'll be Lovi, you can be you," he explained. Ludwig stared at him; the resemblance between him and his brother was uncanny. He swallowed his nervousness and sat up straight, holding out a hand.

"Hello, I am Lu-"

"Shut up, potato head!"

Ludwig blinked and looked up at the Italian. His eyes were both amused and apologetic with arms akimbo and a deep scowl on his face.

"Well?" He projected through gritted teeth. The German cleared his throat and nodded.

"Ludwig. I'm Ludwig. Your brother's-"

"I swear if the next word out of your mouth isn't 'friend' I"m going to-"

"_Friend_," he choked out.

"Ludwig~! But we're more than friends!" Feliciano whined, shoving the blond's arm as his form of discipline. The German sputtered, unsure of what to do.

"But if I say we're dating then he'll-"

"_Dating_?" The Italian cut in, taking the form of his brother once again, "Keep your grubby wurst-wringing hands away from my little brother!"

Ludwig sighed and rubbed his temples, trying to fight the headache pounding it's way into his head. Feliciano glared at him, almost the splitting image of the photograph he had shown earlier.

"Lovino, I assure you that your brother is safe in my hands," he tried again. The Italian huffed and crossed his arms, his hip jutting out to the side as an adorable pout crossed his lips.

"You have one try, macho-head," he warned, "Mess it up and you'll have a 99% chance of shit storm coming right at you!"

"Right," Ludwig replied confidently, nodding once in understanding. Feliciano looked him up and down then relaxed his posture, brushing his bangs to their original placement and smiling brightly.

"Ve~, that was good!" He complimented him, pouncing on the German's arm. He hugged him closely and pecked his cheek, nuzzling his shoulder.

"Is he really that mean?" Ludwig asked cautiously. Feliciano laughed quietly to himself, shrugging.

"We're really protective over each other," he put it simply. The German 'hmm'ed in response, thinking over his situation with extreme carefulness. He looked down at the Italian, smiling softly as he did so.

"Feliciano," he whispered gently. The boy looked up at him with curious honey orbs and a pleasant smile. Ludwig leaned down and pecked his lips, loving the sweet hum of happiness engulf the two as they never left each other's sight. The smaller of the two let out a content 've~' as he rested against his love.

"Don't be nervous," he advised the other, "You have to be confident against Lovi. He doesn't usually expect that."

The German took in the information and pet the other's hair as he leaned into his embrace.

"I'll stand my ground," he assured him, "For you."

* * *

"No, Francis, really, you don't have to!"

"Ah, but mon ami, you _know_ how I am with l'amour!"

"Look, Francis, this isn't necessary-"

"-of course it is or else you wouldn't be-"

"-the awesome me can handle it!"

With that, the phone line shifted to a dull buzz. Francis huffed and set his phone down.

"'I can handle it', he says," he mocked the albino, "If he could handle it then he wouldn't be so single right now."

The Frenchman sauntered over to his window, a displeased frown on his lips as he gazed out at the weather. Behind the glass was a beautiful summer day complete with the blazing sun shedding it's harsh coat of heat waves. The thought of staying inside passed through his mind but soon dissolved as he caught sight of a young lady in a blue dress lighting up the sidewalk.

"Gorgeous," he swooned shamelessly. He spun around and rushed out his room, nearly colliding with his Spaniard friend.

"Ah, Francis! I was just about to-"

"Not now," he called back to the boy as he flat-out ran down the stairs.

He stopped behind the door and took a deep breath. After running a finger over his forehead, so as to catch any sweat that may have rested there, he opened the door and leisurely walked out.

His eyes scanned the area to find that the girl had disappeared. Francis groaned in defeat, leaning against the door with much less-composed posture.

"C'est la vie," he muttered to himself. (1)

He let out a sigh before pushing off of the door and standing tall once more.

"No matter. I'll just make the best of my day since I already happen to be outdoors," he compromised.

With that, he turned to the left and made his way to a brighter day.

* * *

Taking note of the heavily-covered window and lack of light, Francis decided that Gilbert wasn't much of a summer person.

"Too bright," he had summed it up.

"You really are scared of the sun," the Frenchman teased as he took a seat on the bed. Gilbert shrugged and turned his attention to the thin book in his hands. The blond hummed and leaned over to glimpse at the contents of the book.

"Is that last year's year-book?" He asked with a nostalgic smile. The German 'mm-hmm'ed with the same expression, gently turning the crisp and perfect pages with delicate fingers. He chuckled to himself as his finger traced over the thumbnails of student pictures, hovering above a single snapshot.

"You're the only one smiling," he noted with mirth. Francis nodded and looked to the ceiling, recalling the day that the photos had been taken.

"You were going for the bad-boy look and Toni was upset," he remembered aloud, "That was the day he came out, oui?"

Gilbert nodded and stared down at the Spaniard's picture.

"It's weird," he admitted, "Toni's the most smiley person out of all of us."

The Frenchman hummed in agreement before turning the page. He broke out in a large grin and pointed to the page. Resting near the middle of the rows of students was Alfred F. Jones with a smug and wide smile. His teeth, however, were colored grey.

"I still can't believe that Jones didn't notice anything," he laughed. Gilbert joined him instantly.

"Nothing beats the classics," he agreed. (2)

They settled into a comfortable silence as they looked through the book, reliving tales of the past year with smiles and childish excitement. On the final page was a collage of their football team, decorated with cheesy frames lined by footballs and big, bubbled letters shouting 'Go Wurst Wringers!'. Scattered through-out the page were the team member's autographs; pseudo-professional and perfectly practiced.

The two smiled fondly, eying the chosen pictures with warm remembrance.

"We were great," Gilbert said quietly, "We won every game."

Francis lifted his gaze to his friend, resting his hand on his shoulder as he did so.

"We _are_ great," he corrected him.

* * *

**/AN/**:

(1): 'C'est la vie' translates to 'That's life'. I'm really hoping I used that correctly.

(2): They're referring to a prank in which one person asks for a piece of gum and is given a piece of gum that stains your teeth a certain color. Of course, they wouldn't notice unless they come into contact with a mirror, which Alfred didn't.

The last part of this chapter took me forever to write and I'm still not satisfied with it orz I'll try to crank out the next chapter sooner, considering the fact that the story is coming to an end.

**Next:**_ Lovi meets Ludwig, Alfred's on thin ice and Romulus holds a team meeting._


End file.
